#so this is from a retelling but HEY

[oforkney]

was anyone going to tell me that in prose lancelot the gang (arthur, gawain, lancelot and galehaut) gets captured by the saxons but lancelot starts lanceloting and biting people so they let him go and he continues to be insane that guinevere has to lock him up until the lady of the lake shows up to heal him???

[rebelcracker-s]

currently chewing on my queer horror charlie and the chocolate factory retelling like it's a chew toy

[archersgaymerblog]

Morrowind moments I desperately want to hyperanalyze but feel like I don’t have the language to do so: When the Nerevarine asks Vivec if they remember being mortal, and they say “For me — there is no more feeling. Only knowing.” And then a literal written [Pause] before Vivec says they do want to win though, not for their people, but because “To lose would be very, very bitter.” And how those two paragraphs alone shaped Vivec’s character for me more than anything else they said or did during that confrontation, as I felt it was one of the few moments we saw Vivec being completely, brutally, honest.

[impossible-rat-babies]

sticks eyrie in a jar and shakes them

[flowrmoth]

...and then what happened?

DAILY CLICK FOR PALESTINE

Synopsis: your date last night with another girl got real juicy and ellie couldn't help but ask about it...

AN: okay so... this is my first drabble/oneshot so i'm sorry if it sucks. also idk where this idea came from, i just love the idea of ellie being a flustered mess bcus of you hihi (also english is my second language so yeah)

wc: 1.9k

warnings: mdni!!! sexual themes, not really smut, pining, lowkey loser!ellie/perv!ellie?, ellies just obsessed with u ok?, reader being oblivious, no mentions of Y/N or readers looks! (the photos are just for the aesthetic),

"So yeah, in conclusion, I totally beat Jesses ass. He doesn't know shit about pool." you laughed, getting comfortable on Ellies couch.

It was a relaxing Sunday night. You decided to spend the warm evening hanging out with Ellie, one of your closest friends. You definitely needed a breather after a long week of work. Ellie had informed you that she coped some weed from her dealer, so of course, you said yes to a smoke sesh.

You came prepared, nights like these at her place always meant that you would probably end up sleeping over and watching cheesy movies while covered in buttery popcorn and chocolate.

Now, you were sprawled out on her worn out, brown couch in your pajama shorts and a loose t-shirt. Ellies outfit and position mimicking yours, her long legs stretched out in front of her, eyes glued to the insanely boring Sci-Fi movie she picked out and a joint in hand. You were recalling the events of last Friday when you went out with Dina and Jesse and when you finally beat Jesse at pool.

"Damn, can't believe you beat the master himself. He won't ever live that down." Ellie chuckled, taking a drag from the newly lit spliff she rolled before you came over. She looked over at you with tired eyes and smiled. Fuck, she was never getting over this crush. To be honest, Ellie couldn't fucking stop thinking about you. Every day, every second, you were the only thing on her mind. But of course, she was too afraid to do anything about it, too scared that she would fuck everything up and lose you if she confessed. So she decided to remain quiet and enjoy you from afar, basking in your beauty ever time you would sleep in her bed or smoke her weed.

"Duh, I'm a hundred times better than him." you said with a smirk, looking over at Ellie and taking the joint from her slender fingers.

Fuck.

She just remembered. You had a date last night. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You've been raving about this girl, Sarah or whatever the hell her name was, for weeks. Some girl that was coming to your work and finally asked you out last week. Ellie broke a sweat. She had to know what happened.

Did you kiss?

Did you fuck?

God, she'd hoped not.

"Hey, um, how was your date last night? With Sarah?" she asked sheepishly, trying not to sound to dry and nervously fiddling with her ear. She looked over at you and your eyes widened.

"Oh my god! I can't believe I forgot to tell you! Her name's Sophia, Ellie, you know this." you jumped in your seat from excitement and turned your body to face Ellie. "Yeah, yeah, Sophia. Whatever. How was it?" Ellie rolled her eyes, not really caring for the girl.

You sat criss-cross from her, beaming with happiness. You couldn't wait to tell Ellie about the night. "Okay, so, you know that new restaurant?" you ranted with a big smile, retelling Ellie all about the dinner you had, the drinks you ordered and the pretty flowers your date had brought you, but all Ellie could think about was if you went home with the girl. She focused on the TV while you talked, looking over at you with brief glances, too afraid you might notice the disappointment and jealousy twinkling in her eyes or the way her fingers were gripping the joint so tightly she thought it might rip in half.

That girl hadn't even bought you the right damn flowers, or ordered the right drink. She didn't fucking know anything about you. Ellie knew that your favorite flowers weren't roses, far from it, and who the hell orders tequila for a first date? You were clearly a 'daises and whiskey' kinda girl. She fought the urge to roll her eyes.

After the part about the dinner and what not, you finally got to the part about going to Sophias apartment, which Ellie had secretly hoped had not happened. Ellie felt her heart drop and a cold sweat ran from her head right to her stomach. Fuck.

"Then, she asked me if I wanted to smoke, so of course I agreed immediately. I was nervous anyways because she was so hot, you know? Figured it would calm me down." you talked, moving your hands excitedly while Ellie was just nodding along, trying to match your energy as best as she could. She cringed at the word 'hot'.

"Wait, I'm gonna re-enact exactly what happened, 'cus damn, she knew what she was doing!" you laughed, definitely enjoying the replay of last night. Ellies mouth was dry. What the fuck do you mean re-enact what happened?

"And then, she sat on the couch and was all like 'Come here'." you made sure to put on a seductive voice and manspread a bit, while motioning your finger, trying to act out the scene as you remembered. At this point, Ellie was fucked. She prayed the story would be over soon so she could stop imagining you with someone that's not her.

Someone else's hands touching you, caressing you, tracing their fingers around every damn curve of your body that she so badly wanted to feel. It was too much for her.

"Yeah?" Ellie whispered, throwing a questioning look your way. Her hands were getting clammy and the joint was starting to die out.

"Yeah, and then..." you eye her up and down "I kind of like, straddled her. Like this." you chuckled, enjoying the recreation of previous events.

Slowly, you got up from your criss-cross position and started moving towards Ellies side of the couch. Your stare was a dangerous one, one that Ellie has never seen before. Her breath hitched and she swallowed thickly. She could feel the hairs on her neck standing up. Her bangs sticking to her slightly damp forehead.

Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. You were definitely too high, because what the hell is happening?

Your hazy, drunken stare set onto her panicked one. Your hands made their way to Ellies shoulders, gripping them for support. One of your legs swung over Ellies and settled at the side of her thighs, straddling them.

"Then," you took the joint from her shaky fingers and brought it up to your lips, taking a long drag "she did something like this." with a whisper, your hand cupped Ellies cheeks and squeezed them lightly so her lips would part. As you got closer to her face, you blew the thick smoke into her mouth. Ellies eyes immediately darted to your lips and her own got dry with nervousness. She puffed out the rest of the smoke.

Her words were caught in her throat, but she had to say something. Anything. Just to make you stay in this position longer.

"And, um... And then what?" Great fucking question, Ellie. Her voice came out small and hushed. She swore she tried not to sound too tense, but with your fucking perfect thighs sitting on her own, your perfect face so close to hers, your perfect perfume, that she would sometimes steal to from your purse and quickly spray on her wrist, was invading her space completely. She was awestruck, but still tried to play it cool like this wasn't the best thing that has happened to her. Her hands automatically moved to your plush thighs, giving them a light squeeze.

You let out a laugh and whispered, putting out the spliff in the ashtray next to you "And then, um, I don't know. She did this thing, on my neck, that felt so good, but I don't know how to do it." this was actually one of your first sexual/romantic experiences with someone, so it was still new and you still didn't really know what you were doing. You just thought you were sharing a great experience with a great friend.

"Y-yeah? What thing?" Ellie tried to egg you on with a nervous chuckle. This was too good to be true for it to be over so soon. She didn't dare move her hand from your legs, not even an inch. She could bet that her face looked like a fucking tomato right now from how hard she was blushing, but she didn't care when the prettiest girl she had ever seen was in her fucking lap.

"Something likes this..." you bow your head to meet your lips with Ellies neck. Your mouth hadn't even grazed her pulse point, but you could already feel it quickening. You press your lips to her sweet spot, just for a moment, before opening your mouth and sucking in her skin lightly. Her skin tasted so sweet, so soft, with a hint of her signature wood-y perfume and natural scent.

Ellie rolled her eyes so hard she thought she was seeing heaven. She was trying so hard not to let out a stifled moan that was threatening to escape her throat. That will definitely leave a hickey. You let her neck go, kissing the newly bruised spot once or twice, now moving your mouth to her jaw and peppering kisses along the way. Your hand eventually found its way to the back of Ellies head, tangling your fingers in her auburn locks.

Ellie couldn't help but squeeze your thighs, giving you encouragement to continue, her long fingers digging into your soft flesh. She tried so hard to not slide her hands up your thighs and under your pajama shorts. She felt every fucking inch of you underneath her. Your legs squeezing hers, your chests so unbelievably close, one of your hands resting on her shoulder while the other one was working its way through her messy hair. She was so aware of your pelvis pressing into hers, she prayed that you couldn't feel her every goddamn pulse.

You finished off your performance with a quick, delicate kiss at the corner of her lips as you slid away your hands from her body, leaving her all sweaty and worked up. You climbed off of her and went back to your side of the couch, completely unaware of the fucking effect you have on Ellie.

Ellie almost whimpered when she felt your heat leave her, suddenly feeling cold and empty without your body on hers. Like a missing puzzle piece. She shifted upwards and cleared her throat, tucking her hair behind her ears with her shaky palms, rubbing them on her grey shorts. She didn't dare look at you, fearing that you would see her wide eyes and red cheeks.

"Sorry, I hope that wasn't that bad." you glance at Ellie and say with an unknowing smile, acting like nothing happened. Like the greatest thing that Ellie has ever witnessed didn't just occur. You returned to your phone, probably texting the girl whose kisses you just acted out.

Ellie felt sick. Sick with want and sick with the fact that that wasn't real. What just happened wasn't real, but holy fuck, did she enjoy it.

"Yeah, no, that was, uh, good. Wow. Can't believe s-she did all that." she tried to stutter out with closed eyes and clenched fists, getting up from the couch.

"Right? I know!" you returned. "I'm just gonna go to- Yeah, be right back." Ellie said quickly while making her way to the bathroom, almost tripping on her own feet in the process.

She swiftly got in and went straight to the sink. Her whole body felt like it was on fire, not the mention the beads of sweat on her forehead and the damp spot that formed beneath her black boxers. Fuck, she was so embarrassed that only a fucking kiss on the neck got her so worked up. She turned on the tap and splashed her face with cold water, looking at herself in the mirror.

Fuck, Ellie was so in love with you.

[spiderlyla]

miguel would never purposefully hurt you, would he?(gn!reader)

You remember it all too well, that god forsaken evening.

You were in the kitchen heating up leftovers from the night before for the two of you, all while retelling the events of your day to your boyfriend, who was silent the whole time.

It was a little odd how silent he was.

Even when he was extremely tired, he'd hum or throw in a few comments to show you that he's listening, all while looking at you the whole time. Now, he was just staring at the wall in front of him, his back turned to you.

You decided to mess with him a bit to see if he was really listening or not. "Oh, and then the statues all started moving around, and the museum turned into an arena--The Ancient Egyptian section was at war with the Greco-Roman one when I left. I wonder if they reached an agreement or not -"

To your surprise, he was listening.

And he wasn't amused.

"Qué?" He turned to look at you now, those gorgeous crimson eyes that usually looked at you with nothing but love, lacked any sort of emotion behind them. You laughed nervously, unsure what he wanted you to elaborate on. [What?]

"Was just joking around, Mig. I was checking to see if you were listening." You turned the stove off and grabbed two plates. His voice got a little louder when he spoke again, "Why would you think I'm not listening?" He rose from the couch, walking towards the counter.

"It's...you weren't looking at me, and you weren't saying anything, so I assumed you weren't concentrating. Thought I'd mess with you a bit." You heard his footsteps shuffle around the kitchen. You could hear him opening the fridge and aggressively pulling the door open so hard that it rattled. "Maybe if you didn't go off track ten separate times all while telling the same story, I'd be able to concentrate."

Oh.

Your body tensed up, and a cold shiver coursed through your entire body. You put down the half filled plate of pasta down on the counter and turned to him, your eyebrows furrowed. This harsh tone of his was absolutely new to you, and those unsympathetic words he spat at you were so foreign to hear coming from him. You waited for a moment. For him to realise what he's said, but he was staring right at you like nothing was wrong.

Uncomfortable, you shuffled in your place. "Oh, um..." His gaze lingered on you for a minute before he grabbed a bottle of sparkling water out of the fridge and slammed the door shut. Your speech trailed off. You didn't feel like talking to him anymore.

"Well, go on. I'm listening." He sat down on one of the stools by the kitchen counter, and you shook your head, putting a little more food in the plate in front of you and pushing it his way. "You're too tired. I'll just tell you later—"

Miguel groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose, seemingly exasperated. "Aye, vamos, no seas así, cariño." He got up and moved towards you, but when he came to reach for you, you moved away from his grasp. You didn't meet his eyes, but if you had, you'd see them widen at your avoidance. "Hey, you were upset that I wasn't listening, now you won't talk?" Even when you were infuriated with him, you would never move away from his touch. This was different.  [Come on, don't be like that, honey.]

You were only getting more and more disquieted by the second. Sure, he was telling you he was listening, but it was like he was doing it reluctantly, evident by the way he spoke to you. "It's not like I don't want to talk. You don't have the capacity to listen. And that's fine, I'll talk to you when you're feeling better."

"I do have the capacity to listen—Why else would I tell you to keep talking?"

"You said you couldn't concentrate on what I was saying—"

"Yes, that's because you keep telling a bunch of stories about your coworkers in the middle–"

"I always do that, Miguel. Why do you only seem to mind now? It's a part of my day—"

Your voices got louder with each second that passed, you were on the other side of the kitchen now, while Miguel was walking behind you, trying to meet your gaze in any way he could, but you wouldn't let him.

"Oh, so that's why you don't want to talk? Because I told you it's distracting to listen to you speak about so many things at once?"

"No, I don't want to talk because you're being a jerk, Mig." The words left your mouth before you could even register them, and it sent him into a fit of loud irritation. Uttering sentences that you couldn't tell if they were in Spanish or in English. You couldn't take it anymore, so you turned your back to him and walked away, heading towards the bedroom. He could have dinner all alone tonight.

"Hey, where are you—" He followed you closely, his voice becoming a little softer, still the irritation was still very much present. "Oh, come on, don't run away—¡Por Dios! Look at me!" His hand wrapped around your wrist, and he gently tugged you his way. You finally looked at him, and the sight in front of him made his face fall.

Tears filled your eyes to the brim, and you were biting on your lower lip so they wouldn't spill. His grip on your wrist loosened, and his hand fell to his side. Just as he realised what he's done, you were gone, slamming the bedroom door behind you and locking it.

You sat down on your bed, letting the tears stream down your face. How could the man you've always felt comfort speaking to about anything make you feel so...dejected?

No matter how tired he was, he never behaved this way, not even when the multiverse was collapsing. Miguel always made you feel important, always listened to everything you have to say—

You heard movement outside. Clattering plates, the sound of the oven starting, and...the sound of the stand mixer?

You assumed Miguel was just reheating the food, and it pained you more that he was so fine with just letting you be by yourself than to fix what he caused.

You wiped the tear drops off your cheeks and just laid down on the bed, trying to ignore the noise in the kitchen, trying to take your mind off of what had just happened between the two of you.

An hour passed, maybe more, you weren't sure. There was a sweet smell seeping through the small space between the bedroom door and the floor. You were still holding your phone, mindlessly scrolling through your socials, when finally you heard a knock on the door.

When you didn't say anything, he knocked again. His voice was uncertain, and his tone was much more gentle than earlier. "Honey?" The knob turned, and light from the living room spilt into the darkness of the bedroom. You didn't turn to look at him, so he made his way to your side of the bed.

Miguel knelt down to face you, and you put away your phone to finally meet his eyes. "Hey..." He gave you a sheepish smile, his gaze much more softer. He looked like he was unsure of what to say, evident by the way he kept opening his mouth without anything even coming out. He paused for a moment before taking a deep breath. "Mi amor, I'm sorry." He got up to stand in front of you, and you sat up to listen. "I can't disagree with you, I was a jerk. It's just... today has been stressful." He paused again as if realising something. You looked away. "But that's no excuse to treat you the way I did."

You just let out a small hum, and he kneeled down to your level, sitting down on his knees in front of you. He placed one of his hands on your thigh while the other cupped your cheek. "Por favor, Mírame." He sounded so tender, so apologetic. You've never seen Miguel kneel in front of anyone, and yet here he was, on his knees begging you to look at him. "Lo arruiné. But please, just..."  [Please, look at me. / I messed up.]

You met his maroon eyes, and it seemed to have taken him by surprise. He choked up on his words, going queit, then he leaned up, brushing his lips against yours. "Forgive me, okay? I never meant to hurt you, and I can't live with myself knowing I made you cry." You didn't reply but wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. His tense shoulders relaxed under your touch, his hands snaked around your waist, his grip firm and protective.

Although you kissed him first, he took the lead, as always, only pulling away when the two of you needed a breather. He set his forehead on yours, before speaking.

"I reheated the food, and made trés leches. It should be ready," His fingers laced with yours, as the two of you stood up. "That is if you want to have dinner with me." He gave you small smile, and you chuckled, squeezing his hand.

"Mm, only because I'm hungry." He laughed, a wave of relief washing over him once he heard your voice. "I'll have to work harder for you to completely forgive me, isn't that so?"

"Surely you didn't think it'd be this easy."

"No, no. I'm planning to make it up for you after dinner."

"With what?"

He grinned, shooting a playful wink your way. "You'll find out."

Safe to say, you did find out. And safe to say, you did forgive him.

He was very persuasive.

[forbidden-sunlight]

yandere! literary agent with fem!reader scenario

warnings: implication of obsessive thoughts or love.

There might be potential triggers in this story. If you do not feel comfortable venturing any further, please hit the 'back' button on your mobile device or computer and read something much more pleasant.

You are responsible for your Internet consumption!

Hey guys, welcome back to another yandere fic, introducing Yulian Prescott. I'd like to give a big shout-out to my dear friend @deathmetalunicorn1 for helping me write this and finding the perfect likeness for my character, especially when this idea came to me all of a sudden on a Sunday night when I should be sleeping instead of staying up an ungodly hour.

As always, bullying on here will not be tolerated. If it does happen, this scenario will be taken down. I'm not sure if this will be a series. At the moment, this is just a scenario.

With that being said, sit back, relax, and let's dive into the cutthroat world of publishing.

PART TWO

Yandere!Literary Agent is a man who prides himself on being very good at his job. He represented one of the best publishing houses in the country. Anything less than what he expected from his clients was unacceptable.  

If the manuscript arrived in his inbox exactly two minutes past the promised deadline, he would not look at it. If his client is acting like a stupid moron at a function or royally fucking up their reputation by posting something inappropriate on their social media account, he is not cleaning up their mess. He is not their babysitter. They are full-grown adults. And if one of them is not able to produce another book that will actually sell past the number of copies slated to be printed, he will let them go. Call him cruel if you want. Yandere!Literary Agent is simply being pragmatic. He wasn’t cheap. He only wants the best of the best.

So imagine Yandere!Literary Agent’s surprise when a particularly difficult client sent him a completed manuscript. He planned on writing her an email that after much deliberation, it was time for her to find another agent to represent her. The client, Abigail Crowley, had written an adult dark academia trilogy and a feminist retelling of the myth of Theseus, told from the perspective of his lover Adriane. The manuscripts following the conclusion of her last book, however, were complete shit. Her royalties were nearly gone, having squandered them on a penthouse in a high-end neighborhood, the latest clothes, and a wine fridge. You heard him. A fucking wine fridge when she could have replaced that shoddy laptop of hers with something better so she could keep writing books and not have it crap out on her. 

Half-amused and half-annoyed at this pathetic attempt to keep her contract with the publishing company from being null and void, Yandere!Literary Agent clicked on the attachment and read it. One page became four, then fifty. He had to force himself to stop when it was lunchtime and he was already at the mid-way point. 

This story, it was…good. No, it was more than good. It was absolutely fantastic. And Yandere!Literary Agent did not compliment his clients’ works very often, which meant he believed at this very moment, this manuscript will most definitely become Abigail’s comeback to the literary industry. Book sales would go through the roof, A Netflix deal was also possible. But the first hurdle he had to overcome was pitching the manuscript, and making sure the query letter was at least consistent with the story that Abigail was trying to sell to him.

And he’ll make it happen. He is very good at his job, after all. 

Once he had successfully pitched it with a bit of extra charm, he contacted Abigail. She was over the moon, promising to make any necessary edits to the manuscript and it will be sent to him on time. From there, time fast forwarded. ARC books were sent out, Abigail selected the cover designs for the regular and special editions, and a tentative book tour was scheduled. Seven cities, and one international trip, maybe another in the future. Sales for this book were projected to exceed expectations. Yandere!Literary Agent was very confident things would go smoothly from here. At least he had thought so.

A month before the book was to be published, his secretary knocked on his door and said he had a visitor. They insisted on seeing him. Yandere!Literary Agent raised his brow, rising from his desk and stepping out into the hall and saw you. 

In the beginning, he will begrudgingly confess that his first impression of you was someone who is painfully average and out of place. A backpack slung over your shoulder, dressed in navy blue medical scrubs and looking absolutely haggard. Your eyes, though, shined with anxiety and determination. You inclined your head. 

“I apologize for the sudden intrusion, I know you’re busy, but I have some concerns about the book that’s going to be released soon by Abigail Crowley.” 

Yandere! Literary Agent’s gaze sharpened.. “And what, pray tell, are your complaints?” He crossed his arms. “Are you one of the people who had signed up to be ARC reader and didn’t get their copy?” 

You raised an eyebrow. “...No?”

“Then why -”

“Because it is my novel that is being published. Without my consent.” You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “Look, I know it is hard to believe, I get it.” You then swung your backpack around to your front, unzipping the larger compartment. You pulled out a large notebook, some papers, and a flash drive. You held them out to him. “But I think what I have here might convince you to allow me ten minutes, if not five, to hear me out. That’s all I’m asking. This isn’t about money, this isn’t about suing your company. I just want my story back. I’ve already tried talking to Abigail about it, and she isn’t picking up my calls. Please.” You said. “Three minutes.” 

His schedule was clear until the two o’clock meeting with another client on the other side of town. That was about an hour and half from now, as he had just come back from lunch. He supposed he could give you three minutes. Rolling his eyes, Yandere!Literary Editor swiveled on his heel. 

“Let’s see what you have. Melissa, please hold my calls until I’m done.” His diligent secretary nodded and went back to her desk. You followed him like a lost little duckling back to his office. Once the door was closed, you handed him everything. 

Yandere!Literary Editor went over the materials carefully, flipping through the pages of the notebook. The outlines and character designs were here, all written in excruciating detail and in such tiny print. He asked you random questions, going off of his memory from the manuscript and these notes. You answered him without hesitation.

“Yes, that’s correct. What? No, absolutely not. I would never have those characters be romantically paired up! Their relationship is too toxic, and wouldn’t set a good example to the target audience. I’m sorry, what? No, that isn’t her name! It’s Cristabel, not Anastasia! She’s supposed to be assisting the Night Emperor with collecting intelligence via the gossip of salons under her alias, not swooning over his brother when he’s already happily married to his wife! Good God, no. That scene should not even be there! That’s filler content and makes the character growth of the protagonist seem like the pay-off wasn’t worth it, or that he didn’t learn anything at all since the beginning of the book!” 

Yandere!Literary Agent grounded the molars of his back teeth, inhaling slow, deep breaths through his nostrils. Keeping his emotions in check is one of the reasons why he has survived in the publishing industry for this long, and he’s such a successful man. 

But hearing you speak about the characters, perfectly recalling the manuscript’s themes and looking back at the notebook in his hand, seeing the colorful  sticky notes with edits and improvised scenes written on them…he couldn’t deny it any further. You were the real author of the book he’s representing, and Abigail Crowley played him like a goddamned fiddle.

 If this wasn’t enough damning evidence of his client’s plagiarism, you had shown him an original illustration of the world you had created. It was done by an artist you had commissioned on Etsy, with proof of purchase for their services and a timestamp. Three years ago. That was when Abigail’s last best-selling book hit the shelves, and when her creative well began to dry out. 

You must have caught on to his irritation, because you told him that you weren’t here to intentionally stir up any trouble. A coworker had told you about Abigail’s newest book coming out, and the premise was exactly yours, at least what was advertised in the BookTok and Youtube trailers online. You’ve been searching high and low for your manuscript, and the only other person who has been in your apartment and knew about your creative endeavors has been Abigail. She wasn’t really your friend, per say. You took some of the same creative writing courses. You eventually found another career to pursue, and you kept writing as a hobby. She went on to become a professional author and never missed an opportunity to show off her success whenever she invited you out for drinks at an upscale bar or went to fancy dinners. 

Why would Abigail steal the book you’ve been working on for three years when you work a full-time day job, you had no idea. She’s living the dream that she’s always wanted, defying her mother’s wishes to get a normal job because writing is everything to her, and she would never give up on it. But if you were to be hypothetical, it might be another attempt to somehow get one up on her self-proclaimed rival, Cindy Chen, who is an even bigger success than her. 

You then rubbed your eyes. “Sorry, it’s been a long day.” You murmured, standing up from your seat. “Keep the notebook, the maps, whatever you want. If you could return them to me when you’re done, that’s all I ask. And an apology from Abigail, if you’re able to get one out of her. Like I said, this isn’t about money, royalties, or fame. I just want my story back.” 

Yandere!Literary Agent immediately stood up, his eyes slightly widened in fear. “Wait, please, just a moment! I know you’re tired, you want to go home…but I need to set things right. If I had known that this manuscript, your story, had been stolen, I would have never spearheaded its  publication.” And he wouldn’t have. Not only would it affect his reputation, but the company’s too. Stocks would plummet, and there would be a feeding frenzy on social media with #abigailcrowley, #plagiarism, #sailboatpublishinghouse. 

When you looked at him, his heart lurched uncomfortably at seeing your lips fall into a crestfallen expression. You looked so tired, so done with everything, and oh god you looked like you were about to cry shit. Walking around his desk, Yandere!Literary Agent eased you to sit back down and quickly prepared an espresso, possessing a machine to make it in his office so he did not have to walk down five flights to the break room. 

You thanked him for the drink and took a sip, wrinkling your nose slightly, no doubt surprised at the taste. You must not be a regular espresso drinker, or prefer how you made it. Either way, he was grateful that you did not bolt out of the office. Picking up his office phone, he dialed Melissa’s number. 

“Call all of the heads, including the marketing and social media departments. This is an emergency meeting. Now!” Bless Melissa, she did not ask him questions and said she would get on it immediately, hanging up on him. The next person he called was Abigail fucking Crowley. He sweet-talked her into coming to the office, apologizing for interrupting her ‘creativity time’ and promised it won’t take long. She swore to be there in a half an hour, so long as traffic didn’t back up. Yandere!Literary Agent played the understanding card and hung up, his smile being replaced with a smirk. Hook, line, and sinker. He scoffed. He then turned to you. 

“Everything will be resolved soon.” He promised. 

“Sir -” You began. 

“Yulian, please.” 

“Mister Yulian, I understand that you want to make things right, but…can you really get Abigail to talk? She blocked my calls, and the book is hitting the shelves in a month, maybe less than that? How are you going to recover the money that has gone into getting it published, the fees for the printing companies, and the marketing? Correct me if I’m wrong, I’m not too familiar with how publishing works these days.” 

You weren’t wrong, at least in the aspect that the company has put a significant amount of money into the publication of the stolen manuscript, your work, he added mentally. It was too late to stop the printing, and the final draft would need a significant amount of changes. Unless…

“Abigail is a plagiarist, and you are the rightful creator. The way I see it, we can salvage the financial loss by putting your name on the cover, and fixing the glaring omissions as well as other scenes you claim shouldn’t even be there.” He sighed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Of course, we would need to have a press conference and explain why we are changing authors, and what she has done. Considering the timetable and coordinating with the printing companies, it will be cutting it close.” 

You stared at him silently for a long moment before placing the espresso cup back onto the tiny saucer with a soft clink, releasing a heavy sigh. “If I agree to do this, to help with the edits, probably fuck up my sleeping pattern and might potentially be fired from my job unless I can use some of my PTO, what will I get in return?” 

He smiled. “Abigail will be the one to pay for publishing and marketing fees. I can extend the deadline for the revisions by a week. And you will be paid for your time, of course. There will be no need to come here to drop off revisions either. All correspondence will be through email. As an agent, I am qualified to be your representative during press conferences, so you will not have to be present. All I would ask of you is to turn in the final manuscript on time and not say anything on social media until our legal team is fully prepared.”

“No need to worry about Twitter or Facebook. Haven’t logged  on to my account in years.” You raised the espresso cup to your lips. “Too much politics.” You tilted your head to the side, a puzzled frown stretching across your face. “Any chance I could get all of this in writing? I might need to get a lawyer if Abigail tries to take it to court and sue me for defamation.” 

Yandere!Literary Agent nodded. He opened up a blank document and immediately typed up the contract, including everything that you have discussed and a few other variables. Once he finished, he printed it out, handing it to you. You read through the contents carefully before handing it back to him.

“It looks good - it’s all here and I’m agreeable to the terms.” You said.

Humming under his breath, Yandere! Literary Agent signed the bottom. You signed your name next to his, with today’s date and the time. 

He ignored the tiny tingle that crawled up his spine when your fingertips brushed against his as you gave him back the pen. You agreed to stay until the matter with Abigail was over, and he would email you the manuscript so you could go through everything when you get home. 

As it turned out, you did not have to wait much longer for the best-selling author to make her entrance at Board Room 3. Exchanging numbers with Yandere! Literary Agent you would wait in the adjacent room until he sent you a text to make your entrance. Melissa escorted you to said room when he received a message from Abigail that she would be here in ten minutes. 

It’s time. That was the message he sent you. When you opened the door, revealing yourself to the staff and the flustered Abigail…she snapped. 

She rambled how she needed a book, just one more successful book, and she would be set for life. She wouldn’t lose her penthouse, she would still be considered a worthy rival to Cindy Chen, and above all else, she could still write as she had always wanted to do since she was a teenager. You already had a normal job, you had a steady income, you weren’t even a writer. Being a hobbyist writer did not count. Yes, she took your manuscript, but it wasn’t a big deal! You could just write another book when you had time between shifts at the hospital, right? 

The look you gave her…it was resignation. Hopelessness. Disappointment. 

“Abbie…it wasn’t just a story I wrote. You should know that. Writing is so much more than that. I’ve tried to be nice, to talk to you but you wouldn’t listen. I’m sorry it’s come to this, I really am.” You said. That was the last thing you said before you were escorted outside of the door. Seeing your part in this is over, Yandere! Literary Agent took control of the room. 

“Whether it is a hobby or professional writing, it doesn’t change the fact that you stole someone’s work and tried to pass it off as your own.” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “You are a thief, nothing more and nothing less.” Then the lawyers approached Abigail, presenting her with the fees she will need to pay. If there was an issue, going to court would not be an issue as he had all of the evidence needed to ruin the once best-selling writer Abigail Crowley. 

Her reaction was….amusing. 

After security had escorted the screaming woman off of the premises, Yandere!Literary Agent went to search for you, thinking you had gone back to his office to wait for him. You weren’t there. Melissa said you did stop by her desk, only to leave a message on a sticky note that you needed to go home but promised to get the revisions done as fast as you could, and thanks for the espresso it was really good. 

Yandere!Literary Agent smiled softly at the hastily written chicken scratch, pocketing it in his trousers before going back inside his office. You weren’t like any of his other clients. And he would like to get to know a bit more. Who knows? Perhaps….he could persuade you to sign a contract with him, be your agent. You shouldn’t hide your talents from the world. There were people who would love to read your stories, and he had no doubt that the company would benefit from it too. 

But there was no need to rush. There was a month until the book was to be released. That was more than enough time for him to work his magic. He is good at his job, after all. 

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©️do not repost or use any of the characters depicted here without the author’s permission. forbidden-sunlight, 2024

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Danny had always wanted a brother...but not like this! And not so many either!

It had started when he was fighting Desiree. Everything was normal-well, as normal as fighting an undead genie could get-and then a kid fell out of a portal onto the rooftop next to them.

They both looked over at the kid as he picked himself up. Danny glared at the genie and she held her hands up in a placating gesture, "I swear it wasn't me this time." Judging by how she seemed just as baffled by the situation as him, he believed her.

The kid stared at them through the white outs of his mask. Danny stared down at him and yep. That was a superhero outfit. Complete with mask and cape. He quickly souped Desiree before she could pull anything and floated down to the kid, "Hey buddy-" he yelped and jumped out of the way of the kids sword.

Why does he have a sword?!

The kid didn't seem responsive to anything Danny was saying and Danny spent the next few minutes just dodging sword swipes until he managed to restrain him with one of his parents inventions and brought him home to FentonWorks and changed back into a human (away from the kids line of sight of course)

His friends were a bit shocked that he came home with a living person and he had to explain what happened while Stabby tried to wiggle out of his bonds.

That was when his parents walked in.

Danny had to retell them an altered version of the story from before and they began examining him. The kid was practically feral before his dad exclaimed, "I know!" And ran to the fridge and pulled out some of the Fenton Fudge.

He ran back over and popped it into the kids mouth before anyone could stop him. Everyone just stared as the kid calmed down, looking at them with confusion and wonder as the fudge melted in his mouth.

Aka Danny keeps getting Damian clones via portal delivery and his family keeps taming them with Fenton Fudge and adopting them. The League of Assassins have no idea where all thier clones are disappearing to...

[croakings]

extremely tempted to name my newest thing just like. something so deeply uninformative at first glance but that is also actually a ginormous spoiler/so very on the nose re: plot, except i'm not sure anyone but me 1) would ever know how much of a Dude. moment it is (because that realization relies on some A Language/Culture I Made Up knowledge and idk how much of that i can actually include) or 2) would truly appreciate how funny i am when/if my little joke IS revealed/comes up, which is imperative. it's not funny if it's not funny. and on their own it's like. yeah that sure is a title i guess technically. WHICH. even at best it will be late in the game where i can drop the hee hee hoo hoo. people will see my joke and there is No Way they can get it. what if they pass by the story of my dudes because the title sucks

[vagabond-umlaut]

hey, where is the pomegranate tree?

unstoppable force, aka kore, aka gojo, meets immovable object, aka hades, aka you— nothing can ever go wrong from this collision, trust me— n-o-t-h-i-n-g.

▸ gojo satoru x fem!reader; hades and persephone retelling [with a twist ;))]; 1.2k wc; stubbornly persuasive gojo; the reader is js so tired and annoyed [and tired]; enemies to lovers vibes[??]; talks of marriage and children; gojo thinks you are a fool, he is the real clown here

▸ pls don't glare at me if there is more than one inaccuracy here, haha. anyways, the header is from pinterest, the divider is by @benkeibear and the characters used ain't mine. pls don't plagiarize, translate or repost this. enjoy reading! ❤️

▸ update: this fic is now part of a series!!! wreaths of asphodel 😊😊

"you shall spend the rest of your days in tears."

you're foolish; woefully so, gojo thinks, carefully observing you from his place on the chaise lounge, smiling while you continue seething, "and there will be no one who can save you. neither a hero nor a god. neither demeter nor zeus. no. one."

"but why do you think i will need saving, my rose?" the endearment rolls off his tongue like honey, the taste sweetening at the way your pretty lips dip into a deeper frown, "you're not a monster, are you?"

"no!" the defensive reply comes in less than a beat. though the words following it sound a tad less bold; it seems as if you're trying to make yourself believe and not scare him.

"i'm someone far fiercer— hades. the goddess of the dead. the queen of the underworld— and the cause for your misery should you choose to vex me any further."

"aw, no," gojo cries, decidedly making a show by slapping a hand over his eyes and faking a sniffle, "why must the only woman i want as my wife see me as an annoyance?"

then lets his hand drop down to the cushion, willing his eyes to well over with pitiful moisture. "as the god of life, i've only ever given and given– be it grains or fruits or vegetables or flowers– without asking anything in return— yet the first and only time i ask..."

he doesn't bother finishing his sentence, choosing to sob to add to the tragic atmosphere— though that doesn't mean he doesn't note the war of emotions on your face:

pity, confusion, anger, again confusion— you're so easy to read, to steer. very foolish, really.

"you'll not like living here," you eventually break the silence hanging within the room. your voice is much softer now; the god wonders if you sing. if you do, the muses will certainly be put to shame... "your days will be spent in utter boredom and gloom and tears–"

"– and no one can come to my aid then: yes, thank you," he interrupts you, more than a little tired, "you've driven the points too well into my head– so much so that i'm surprised there isn't a gaping hole in there, oozing blood and my brains. but why must you think i'll need rescue, huh??"

if a smidge of force escapes into his words, gojo decides not to pay it any mind— though only until he notices the small flinch you give– his insides twist and torment, quite inexplicably, thereafter.

"okay, look," he says, getting up from his slouch to move near you, but stops on catching the warning glint in your eyes.

"first of all, i'm not some damsel in distress being whisked away in a chariot here– i came here by own volition. and i'm offering my mind, body, heart, soul– the special package that i am, in fewer words– to you, by my own volition. why shall i want anyone to rescue me then?"

"besides," he proceeds to add, allowing an easy smirk to form on his face, "you're just the cute little goddess of the dead– not at all scary like your brother used to be; though i guess you try to imitate him in your glares, don't you? sukuna was quite notori—"

"don't you dare utter my brother's name, foul olympian," a quiet growl slashes gojo's comment, sending it plummetting to the ground— and making him understand why you, the inconspicuous, sheltered sister of the vicious former holder of the name 'hades', was given the crown, in the aftermath of your brother's banishment– instead of the several more well-known candidates...

"i apologise," gojo offers in the very next instant, making it as genuine as he can, "i never meant to upset or offend you. i'm sorry if i did."

you just stare at him for a beat, gojo watches, before your shoulders lift then fall in a sigh. the fire burning in your aura abates by a pinch.

sighing once more, you finally break your silence, "It's okay, and um– suppose i too should apologise. you might be an olympian but you're not as foul as them, no. please forgive me for calling you so."

"no problem, my rose," the god is quick to accept your words with a wave of his hand and a beam, further widening when he notices the sliver of smile on your countenance, "but does this mean i appeal to your tastes? i mean, you called me 'not as foul as them', didn't you?? did you just accept my hand in marriage, then???"

"no, i didn't..." your subtle smile disappears swifter than it appeared. a half of gojo's floral crown, quite inexplicably, wilts on the table before. he watches your eyes fall to it, then snap up to meet his.

"do you love me?"

not yet, but he thinks he can. you might be an idiot but you certainly aren't an unlovable idiot— and one voice in his mind murmurs, those precious, innocent looks of yours aren't even the main reasons why...

the god shoots back a languid smile. "if you want to see me in love with you, so be it."

"that's neither 'yes' nor 'no'," you point out, frowning, before vaulting your second query of the evening, "if we get married, do you want to have children?"

it won't be very unfavourable, if you both do... with the vivid colour of your eyes, or the adorable shape of your nose, or the radiance of your skin, or the— "if you want, i shall be happy to assist," he ekes out with a meaningful wink, albeit he doubts how much of it reaches you.

you're very foolish, after all... and no– it's not because of the awkward way he says it– no! not in the slightest! he wasn't fumbling at all!

you wrap the shawl tighter around your shoulders but don't move any further away, gojo notes. the same way he does the slight tint in your cheeks when you roll your eyes with a scoff.

"you're unbelievable, kore. truly, terribly unbelievable." you press the pads of your thumbs over your forehead before releasing it, gaze an unprecedented mark of sharp when it settles on his face.

"is there nothing you want from our union, eh? i refuse to believe you wish to marry me without any demands, as if on a mere whim– but if it is so, i ought to warn you, kore: my answer is and will always be one firm 'no'."

your words mustn't ignite this odd restlessness in him. they certainly mustn't— still, gojo finds his chest tight and the air heavy as he grins back and says, "i only want to be your husband, your majesty... but if that is too much for you right now–"

the stretch on his lips simmers down to something smaller. yet truer.

"i want you to call me by my name. my real name. can you do that, my rose?"

you don't say anything in response for a long while. so long, in fact, it makes the god wonder if you are ever going to reply to his request.

perhaps not, he thinks quite a bit down-spirited when you suddenly turn on your heel and with a swish of your long shawl, stride out the rooms– o-oh.

you stop just as abruptly at the threshold. a complicated grin shining on your face as you twist to look at him over your shoulder then say:

"good night, gojo satoru. pray the ghosts prowling these halls don't eat you up ere dawn."

you're gone not even few feet away from the door, before gojo falls face-first into the bed, the entire room suddenly erupting into thousands of roses in all colors ever seen. [lolol, he is such a loser for you! xD]

▸ masterlist

[crappymixtape]

because of you • part two

PART I • PART III • PART VI • PART V // REQUEST -> @sattlersquarry ❝ an enemies to lovers fic with Steve? 💙 maybe they have to put aside their differences to fight upside down stuff and realize they actually have a lot in common 👀 • 18+  | ( 3.3k – little bit of king!steve, mostly angst with a dash of fluff, enemies to idiots in love, steve x reader )

B E C A U S E O F Y O U • P A R T T W O 🎶 theatre, etta marcus

❝ IS IT EASIER WHEN YOU DON’T HAVE TO START AGAIN? WHEN YOU DON’T WANNA MAKE AMENDS? ❞

‘Stealing a Winnebago’ had been easier than you’d assumed, but the getaway execution went exactly like you thought it would. Absolute disorganized chaos and the way Steve peeled out of the trailer park dumped you into Robin’s lap for the first mile. Made you even more skeptical of whatever half-assed plan these people had frankensteined together and now? You found yourself browsing the clothing section of The War Zone.

What in the hell were they thinking coming here anyway? From Eddie’s retelling of what happened under Lover’s Lake it sounded like not one of them knew anything about hand-to-hand combat, let alone guns. Couldn’t even land a punch, but thought they could handle this? Walls of rifles on display, rounders full of bulletproof gear and cases upon cases of bullets and god, you wanted to leave.

“Hey,” Nancy’s voice pulled your attention away from the tactical vests you were staring at, her eyes wide and earnest as she looked over at you. “If I go over to the counter, you gonna be okay?”

“Oh, totally,” you lied. “Yeah, was gonna go look over here anyway,” and you thumbed over your shoulder at more vests.

“Okay, good.”

She gave you a small Nancy-Wheeler-smile and left you there alone in a sea of camouflage. In the middle of a store you’d never have set foot in before all this and making you second guess yourself. Second guess what was seemingly more and more a stupid decision to go along with all of this and you huffed a sigh in frustration.

“Should’ve stayed in the trailer,” you grumbled under your breath, fighting the urge to just walk out, but apparently you weren’t the only one wandering around all the puke green clothing.

“Huh, didn’t know you had good ideas.”

The sound of Steve’s voice made your hands ball into fists, nails pressing half moons into your palms.

“Do you ever have anything nice to say?” you sneered and he had the audacity to be so causal. Didn’t even look up from the tactical vests he was flipping through and tossed one into his cart.

“Not to you I don’t.”

Anger rose in your chest like a pot boiling over, so hot it made your cheeks burn as you glowered over at him.

“What’s your problem?”

“Don’t have one.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yep,” and still he didn’t look at you. Picked a bomber jacket off the rack and piled it on top of his vest and it was the last straw.

Stalking over to his side of the rounder you got right up in his face, dug a finger into his chest and said, “Liar.”

His eyes flickered at your accusation, sardonic smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as he looked down at you and warned, “Don’t say things you can’t prove, Princess.” And he leaned into your finger. Waited for you to fold. Tsked at your attitude and the sound of it triggered a memory so strong you felt like you’d been sucker punched.

Your second ever interaction with Steve Harrington happened the week before summer break.

You heard it while you were walking back to school from grabbing lunch at the diner. A high, sharp whistle followed by car horn and then—

“Owwww, damn baby!”

And you recognized the voice right away.

Tommy Hagan. Leaning out the passenger window of Steve’s BMW. Wolf-whistling at you and being a dick and you tried to ignore them, but then they were pulling up next to you and slowing way down.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Tommy purred at your back, your mouth twisting into a scowl at the sound of Eddie’s nickname on his tongue. “You need a rid–” he started to ask, but his question cut short when you turned around.

Mouth dropped open in shock for a split second as he realized who you were, Tommy quickly recovered and started to laugh. That obnoxious, hyena-like laugh that made you want to punch him and he smiled and whistled again.

“Shit, Stevie! Who knew the freak had an ass on her!”

“You kiss Carol with that mouth, Tommy?” you shot back, Steve stifling a snicker from the driver’s seat.

“Bet you could do for a kiss, baby,” Tommy tsked, pouted his lips at you and grinned, “Always so damn sour.”

“Yeah? Wanna find out why?” you threatened and it made Tommy grin even wider. Shark-like. Predatory.

“Park it, Stevie,” Tommy didn’t bother looking at his friend, eyes locked on you as he opened the passenger door and jumped out of the car while it was still moving. Walked right up and crowded over you, eyes narrowing as he leaned in, “And what if I do?”

Your stomach lurched, heart leaping into your throat as you stood your ground. You didn’t think he’d take the bait, but you also didn’t shy away. God, you wished Eddie was there. Tilting your chin up in defiance you glared him down.

“Tommy, c’mon man. Just leave it,” you heard Steve’s voice from over Tommy’s shoulder, tinged at the edges with desperation as he ran up on the two of you, but Tommy couldn’t have cared less.

“Well? What’re you gonna do about it, toots?” Tommy pushed again, toes of his shoes knocking against yours as he stepped even closer, towering over you and it hit you like a ton of bricks how in over your head you were.

“Tommy, just leave–”

“I didn’t ask you, Harrington!” Tommy snapped and you took the opportunity.

Grabbing a fistful of his shirt in your hands, you yanked Tommy down into you and drove your knee into his crotch as hard as you could.

“Oh, fuuuuck,” he choked out, folded in half and hands covering his junk as he dry heaved and you took a big step back.

“Coward,” you turned and hurled the word at Steve and watched it land heavy as his face shifted. Brows pinching together and mouth dropped open, but nothing came out as he struggled to say those two little words. I’m sorry. To tell you he wasn’t like his friend, but his silence betrayed him.

“You bitch,” Tommy grunted at you as he tried to straighten up, one hand still over his crotch.

“Don’t move! I’ll–I’ll get you expelled!” you threatened and it made him laugh. A mean, mirthless thing.

“No fuckin’ way. My mom’s on the school board, who’s gonna take your side?”

And you looked back at Steve for a split second, silently asking him to step in and do something, but he stood frozen in place. Still unable to go against his ‘best friend’ and what little belief you had left in him was shattered.

You were done with Steve Harrington.

Shaking your head, you fought back the tears burning at the corners of your eyes and ran up the path to the cafeteria doors. Disappeared behind them with a loud, metallic slam! and left Steve alone to drown in the deafening silence.

Don’t say things you can’t prove, Princess.

It was like no time had passed, like you were still there in that parking lot with Tommy towering over you and tsking at you just like Steve was doing now, but this time you didn't run away.

“Don’t call me that!” you shoved at his chest and he stumbled back a step.

“Don’t call me a liar!”

“All you do is lie, Harrington! Your entire life was built on lies,” you could see his pulse fluttering against his neck. Watched his jaw tick as he clenched down on the words he wanted so badly to throw at you, but you didn’t give him a chance. “Why are you even here? You don’t give a shit about Eddie. You don’t give a shit about anyone, you’re–”

“Enough!” you flinched as his shout drew the attention of a couple older guys looking at the hunting gear. “You don’t know anything about me, okay? Not a god damn thing,” and the second part was quieter, but they way he held your gaze after punctuated it heavy.

He turned away from you, hastily pushing his cart back toward the cashier counter and walked out the double doors, but you weren’t about to let him have the last word.

“Hey, I’m not done!” you shouted after him across the parking lot. Sharp and biting and it made him spin back around, arms flung out at his sides in exasperation.

“Oh, yeah? Fine. What else you got?”

“Well, for one, I’m not going to sit here while you lord around like King Steve. This isn’t high school. No one here gives a shit about any of that.”

He squeezed his eyes shut at his old nickname. Sucked in a breath and let it out slow to try and steady himself.

“I’m not like that anymore.”

“Seriously? Do you hear yourself? You’ve been a dick to me since I set foot in Max’s trailer! And honestly? I’m not surprised! You think I don’t remember all the shit you put me through, put us through in school?” you shot back and he opened his eyes to glare over at you.

“Like I said, Princess–”

“I said don’t call me that!”

“–you don’t have any idea what this is. What we’re up against. None. You’re in over your head.”

“Okay? And what, I’m supposed to sit here on my hands and say, ‘It’s fine! Steve Harrington and all his little friends will fix this’?? You’re out of your mind!”

“And you think you can?” he shot back and your heart rate thrummed heavy in your ears.

“You know, Eddie says he trusts you now, but hell if I will. No fucking way,” and as you turned and cut past him back to the Winnebago he had to jog to keep up.

“Hey! Eddie almost killed me! With a fucking beer bottle!”

You huffed a laugh and kept walking, shaking your head at the accusation and incredulous at the lengths he was going to prove his point.

“Why should I believe you?” you called over your shoulder, “You’re probably just gunning for a headline: Steve Harrington, Hero of Hawkins!”

“Headline?? I–are you kidding me? You think I’d do all this for a headline??”

And finally you stopped at the bottom step of the Winnebago and Steve seized his chance.

“You really think I’m that superficial?” he shot at your back, but you didn’t turn around. Didn’t even acknowledge him and he spent what little patience he had left. “Hey! I’m talking to you!”

But you were already gone. Frozen in place with the world growing dark. Tree line ahead of you blurring. Unfocused and liquid like water and the ground swam under you as a voice echoed in your mind.

I see you.

The sound of Steve still talking behind you turned to fuzz, crackled like radio static and faded away into ear-splitting silence. Deafening and swallowing you whole and then you felt it. The ground falling out from underneath you and you were drowning in the dark and the voice that echoed in your mind pulled you even deeper.

Resisting will only make it worse.

❝ AND I NEVER HAD A TASTE FOR LIARS OR THE UNIQUELY UNINSPIRED ‘CAUSE I DON’T NEED TO BE DESIRED ❞

Steve glared daggers at your back. Anger hot and fuming and fueled by the fact that you had the nerve to ignore him and god, he wanted to prove you wrong.

“Are you trying to piss me off? Cos its work–” but the words died in his throat as he came around to face you. “Oh. Oh, shit,” with a quick glance over your shoulder he saw everyone else finally coming out of the store and he didn’t wait to call for help.

“Munson!! Eddie!” Steve yelled over your shoulder at your best friend before grabbing your shoulders in his hands and squeezed at them. Leaned down to try and meet your unfocused, far away gaze and when none of it worked he felt his chest grow tight.

Not again.

“Hey, hey! Look at me!" panic clawed its way up his throat as he shook your shoulders, "Stay with me! Munson–hurry up!”

Your eyes were glazed over, tears gathering at the corners as your whole body started to tremble. Breathing stuttered and caught in your throat. Lips parted and trying to pull air in, but it wasn’t enough and Steve felt his hand twitch. Wanted to press it to your cheek to try and ground you, reach you and bring you back, but then Eddie was finally at your side and shoving Steve out of the way.

“Sweetheart! Can you hear me? Shit, shit, shit. What happened?? Honey? Look at me!” Eddie cradled your face in his hands. Did what Steve couldn’t. Voice ratcheted up, his usual low timbre a high pitched thing driven by fear and hearing it doused any remaining anger that had settled into Steve’s chest and replaced it with something else.

With helplessness. Regret. Remorse.

With the slow realization that everything he’d just said to you wasn’t worth it. Remembered how Nancy had yelled at him, just like you, outside of the gym. You’re bullshit! And his throat squeezed with guilt for messing it all up again because he was bullshit. He was a liar and you were right. Had he learned nothing?

He looked at you, your face contorted with fear, and he felt something new flicker within him. A feeling blooming at the pit of his stomach. One he was so certain couldn’t possibly exist when it came to you, but as he stood there watching Eddie try to shake you back from the dark he wasn’t so sure anymore.

“Steve, help me!” tears cut down Eddie’s cheeks as he called to him and pulled him hurtling back to Earth. Desperate. Pleading. Begging him to do something and it shook Steve back into action.

Heart pounding in his chest, adrenaline coursed through Steve's body and fought off the fear that had threatened to trap him in choke hold.

“Max, gimme your Walkman!” he shouted over your shoulder.

The rest of the group had started running back to the Winnebago as soon as they’d heard yelling and when Steve asked for the cassette player, Max knew time was running out.

“Shit,” she hissed under her breath and broke into a sprint, scrambling to untangle the headphones from around her neck as she hurried to get to you. “Here! It’s still Kate Bush, is that–”

“Doesn’t matter–Munson get these on, hurry!” Steve, snatched the Walkman from Max and crammed it into Eddie’s outstretched hands.

“Please, please, please,” fell from Eddie’s lips, desperate, praying that this would work as he fitted the headphones on and pressed them against your ears, “Please.”

Blinking heavy, you strained your eyes against the black. Against the suffocating dark you suddenly found yourself in. The stand of vivid, green ash trees lining the parking lot replaced by gnarled branches, dark and leafless. Bright yellow buttercups snuffed out by thick, wet vines that snaked their way across the ground under your feet.

You weren’t in the parking lot of the War Zone anymore, not really, and as you breathed in the sickly, ashen air your heart stopped in your chest.

The Upside Down.

“Eddie? Eddie!” you shouted into the dark, red lightening cracking the sky in two, and when no one answered you knew you were utterly alone.

Panic gripped you like a vice as you thought of Chrissy. Of Fred and Patrick and dread filled your stomach. Utter hopelessness and grief and when you whipped around to run you felt something tangle around your leg. Wrapping up, up, up and pulling you down, down, down.

You braced for it, ready to break your fall with your hands, but you never hit and instead found yourself lifting into the air. Unhinged laughter filling your ears as more vines snaked around your arms and legs and you swore you were going to be sick.

It was

Him.

“Why isn’t it working?? God dammit, work!” Eddie was yelling at the Walkman, his composure unravelling as Chrissy’s last moments flooded his mind. “Is she gonna die? She can’t die!” he pleaded and his voice cracked, a sob caught in his throat, “Please don’t let her die!”

“Hey hey, hey! Get a hold of yourself. That’s not gonna happen, okay? It’s gonna work,” Steve gripped Eddie’s shoulders, looked him in the eye and tried to reassure him, but when he glanced over at you he knew he couldn’t make that promise. “Please work,” he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Where are you going? You can’t leave. Not yet.

Vecna’s voice was everywhere. Flooding every part of you and you feared you would never feel joy again. Would never escape this. Would be stuck here forever screaming into the void, hanging on Vecna’s every whim.

I would like very much to show you where I’m going. Please, take a seat.

And the vines yanked you down, squeezed tight around your wrists and legs and held you fast against the ground, rocks digging painfully into your back.

“Please, let me go!” you pleaded into the dark. “Please, I–” but your mouth went dry as a shadowy figure appeared through the ash. Coming closer and closer in the dark with each heavy step and when it finally stopped, feet at your head, your blood ran cold.

Wet, sinewy skin. Muscles exposed and stretched taut. Eyes that pierced your mind and knew every single one your thoughts. Knew all the dark things spiraling there and made them worse. Clawed at you with spindly, protruding hands and long, dagger-like claws and suffocated you with the smell of something rotten.

Of decay.

Of death.

Reaching a hand down, Vecna held it over your face, inches away from touching you as you struggled against your restraints, but they constricted tighter with your every move.

“Please,” you were crying openly now, tears cutting paths through the ash that had settled on your cheeks, but he ignored you.

I want you to tell your friends, I want you to tell them everything you see. Everything I show you.

“No, please!”

Tell them!

“No, I can’t–”

Tell them everything!

And then your head felt like was being cleaved in two. White hot light fracturing the black sky into thick shards and your screams were the only thing you could hear as Vecna pried open your mind and poured into you his vision for the future...

Hawkins in ruin.

Four gashes in the earth. Cavernous. Hot and angry and full of fire.

Your family. Lying scattered across your lawn. Motionless and still and limbs bent wrong.

Tell them!

Your friends hanging in the air just like Chrissy, Fred, Patrick.

Eyes empty, slack-jawed and lifeless, bones snapped like twigs.

Tell them!

Eddie and Robin and Nancy and Steve and–

“NO!” you screamed, the sound pulled painfully from your lungs as you felt your legs give way and collapsed into yourself.

“Whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa–”

Steve scrambled to grab hold of your shoulder and barely caught you before your bare knees hit the pavement.

You heard birds chirping. Sunlight filtering through the backs of your eyelids as you kept them squeezed shut, but the air was clean. Smelled fresh and as you slowly opened your eyes you realized you weren’t choking on ash anymore.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Steve was still holding onto you, your hands pressed into his thighs as you braced yourself, the feeling of nausea overwhelming.

“I saw him,” you whispered, only Steve could hear you and you started to cry.

“Him?” Steve asked unnecessarily, glancing up at Eddie. Hoping, no praying, if he asked maybe you’d give a different answer. One that wouldn’t involve death and the end of the world and everything hinging on this stupid fucking plan, but he knew.

Everyone knew.

Eyes glued on their feet. Arms folded over their chests and uneasy with the weight that had settled over the group.

“Vecna.”

[ NOTE: THIS IS PART TWO OF A – POSSIBLY – FIVE PART SERIES, PART FOUR AND FIVE TO COME SOON ]

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist ♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

[macfrog]

shameless cowboy like me chapter two

what if i told you...joel's a flirty menace in this one? 😈 this is part ii of my new dbf!joel series - you can find part i here 🫶🏼 enjoy babes

pairing: dbf!joel x fem!reader

summary: an innocent slip of the tongue leads to some very interesting preparations for the neighborhood barbecue

warnings: 18+ minors dni!!! female masturbation, fingering, praise kink and daddy kink (blink and you'll miss it), age gap (reader is 23, joel is 48), mention of alcohol, bit of cursing. all very hot hot hot

word count: 4k

series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist

“Feel good?” Joel’s voice is calm, cool. It’s not at all like he’s just caught you fucking yourself to the thought of him. Your eyes shoot open and hands scramble to push your dress back down, yanking the bedsheets over yourself. He’s standing against your doorframe with his arms folded. “Don’t cut it short on my account, baby,” he purrs, stepping inside your room and closing the door gently behind him. “You take all the time you need.”

You stagger out to the driveway, heaving the bucket full to the brim, rocking side to side with every step you take. Warm water and suds spill over and soak your fingers as you battle with the weight down toward your dad’s car, parked out on the street.

“Aw, what’d I just tell you?” he yells over the hose, cutting the water and letting the nozzle drop as he jogs over to give you a hand. “Don’t fill it all the way!”

You let go of the bucket with a heaving breath, squatting with your palms on your knees. “You told me – gasp – you needed enough – gasp – to do both our cars,” you pant, “there’s – enough.”

“Go on inside and get a glass of water ‘fore you keel over, dumbass,” he says, subsiding a laugh as he turns the hose back on. “And bring out sponges when you come back!”

After a few more deep breaths, you stumble on back up the drive and into the cool house, where you pour a glass of cold water. You’re standing by the window watching your dad soak his SUV when a familiar truck pulls up behind it, gas tank in the bed.

Your cheeks heat just at the sight of him getting out, long legs striding over to meet your dad. It’s been a few days since you last saw him, since he had dinner with you guys. Since he ignited a fire inside you that you’ve done nothing to extinguish.

They exchange a few words, your dad gestures to the bucket at his feet and then gives what you presume is a retelling of your debacle in the drive. Joel’s head falls back in laughter, and you’re not sure whether your heart jumps from embarrassment or something more.

He’s in a washed black tee and jeans. Simple, typical Joel. His toned arms are folded on his chest, shoulders a little hunched as he listens to whatever your dad is probably boring him with.

You check yourself in the mirror, tucking and then untucking your hair behind your ear, and tug the skirt of your yellow dress a little lower.

Lower? What are you doing?

You turn and check yourself out, pulling it up little by little, imagining what Joel might think when he sees you. Where his eyes might fall, the way his breath might catch…

Your dad’s voice calling your name snaps you back to reality. You sigh and give yourself a final once over – adjusting your bra under your dress – and turn on your heel back to the garage door, emerging from the shadows to the red-hot sunshine once again, this time a little more collected.

Joel’s eyes find you the minute the sun does. Still nodding and muttering back to your dad, he tracks you as you stroll down the drive and to your dad’s side.

“Hey,” you chirp.

“Hey, yourself.” Just out of your dad’s view, he eyes you up and down, settling just south of your neck. You feel your stomach fluttering.

Your dad lifts his arms and props them against his hips, glaring at you.

“What?”

“Sponges?”

“Oh…” Fuck. “I…There ain’t no sponges in there.” If you weren’t so busy goggling at Joel and hiking your skirt up, you’d have remembered his request.

Your dad screws his face up. “I have sponges, sweetheart. In one of the boxes on the shelf–”

“I didn’t find any.”

He sighs, frustrated. “The hell’d my sponges go?” he asks, turning to Joel and shaking his head in disbelief.

Joel still hasn’t taken his eyes off you. Like he can read your mind, he raises a finger and turns to your dad. “You gave a couple to me, remember? When I had to wash my truck. Few weeks ago, now. Must’a never gave you them back. My bad.”

“You got my sponges?”

“Truck was pretty dirty. Probably threw ‘em out.”

You tut. “Unacceptable. You call this a best friend?” Joel narrows his eyes and mimics you, and you grin back.

Your dad grumbles. “I’ll let you off this time, Miller, seein’ as you brought that tank a’ gas. But how the hell am I meant to wash two cars with a bucket of soap and no sponges?”

“You don’t need to wash them in the first place,” you mumble, looking down to your feet, rubber toe of your sneaker kicking at the road.

“How many times– I am not havin’ half the neighborhood over with two dirty cars in the drive!”

“Alright!” you hiss back, eyes wide. “Look, I’ll run to the store and grab some. We need drinks, anyways.”

“Good idea. And we need some burgers.”

“B– You don’t have burgers?”

“Or steaks. Get a few steaks, too.”

“Dad! The barbecue is in two hours!”

He bends down to pick the hose back up, smile painted on his face. “Better get goin’, then, huh?”

You throw your head back with frustration, marching off to the house to grab your purse. Your dad chuckles behind you, angering you all the more.

When you come back downstairs, Joel’s standing in the hallway waiting, flannel shirt tucked under his arm.

“I’ll come,” he says, “extra set of hands. Plus, you can show me this new ride of yours.”

Thank you, you mouth as you pass him. He places a gentle hand on your shoulder and follows you out the door.

“Steaks, burgers, sponges, soda. Anything else?”

“Crate of beer,” your dad calls over the water spraying over his car.

Joel gives him a thumbs up as the two of you pass by, other hand still locked on your shoulder blade.

When the two of you settle in your car, Joel turns to you, pulling his seatbelt on. “I could see the sponges from where I was standin’.”

“I didn’t even look,” you mutter back, switching the ignition on.

“Just after an excuse for a half hour alone with me, were ya?”

You lean your head in his direction. “Sounds to me like it’s the other way around. You offered to come with me, remember?”

He responds with a look that you read as Touché, and the car pulls off.

----------

The store is freezing thanks to the aircon, and, after ten minutes of wandering up and down the meat aisle, you’re shivering with goosepimples along your arms. Finally, Joel comes back with a few bottles of soda.

“Cold?” he asks, placing them in the cart beside a three-pack of sponges.

“AC.”

“Here.” He pulls his flannel off and drapes it over your shoulders. You smile in thanks.

“I don’t know what meat to get,” you groan, pushing your arms into the sleeves of Joel’s shirt. It’s warm, and smells like him. When he turns to look inside the freezers, you bury your nose in your shoulder and breathe him in.

“These’ll do,” he eventually says, lifting a few packs of frozen burgers and a couple steaks. “Your dad ain’t the most prepared guy I ever knew.”

“Tell me about it.”

Joel takes the cart, pushing it along while you meander by his side, casually looking around the store. After throwing a few packs of candy in, along with a pack of headphones – “My old ones broke,” you protest, in response to Joel’s perplexed glance – you make your way toward the checkout.

“Shoot, forgot the beer. Go grab a case for your dad, would ya?”

You breathe a sigh. “Can’t you?”

“C’mon, kid, I ain’t askin’ twice.”

You hold his stare for a few seconds, a standoff in the idle store. He doesn’t flinch. You try not to, but his gaze is strong, his jaw tight, and your stomach is doing flips. You roll your eyes and make to turn.

“Good girl.”

Fuckin’ asshole.

You keep your back to him, continue walking with your fists balled tight either side of your hips. You know that Joel knows the effect he has on you, and you know he’s got his eyes on you as you round the corner of the aisle, smirk across his lips, but you at least try to hold on to what little pride you have left.

You meet Joel back at the checkout, standing in line. He acknowledges you with a quick nod, eyes settling on the case in your right hand.

“Coors?”

“Uhuh.”

“No Bud?”

“Dad doesn’t drink Bud. Dad drinks Coors.”

He shakes his head, blank expression. “No, he doesn’t. He drinks Bud.”

You start to feel your face warming. “You think I don’t know what beer my dad drinks?”

“You think I don’t know what beer my friend drinks? Go get a crate of Bud.”

“You fuckin’ go,” you hiss, just as the cashier calls you two over.

“Hi, darlin’s!” she sings as you approach the checkout. Her cheeks swell with her sickly-sweet smile, eyes flitting from one of you to the other. “Got everything you’re after today?”

“Close enough,” Joel replies, perfectly friendly to her, but with a sideways glance to you that makes your chest tighten.

“That’ll be $53.94. Cash or card?”

“I’ll get it,” you say, hand burying into your purse for cash.

Joel pulls his wallet from his back pocket. “I got it,” he says, stepping in front of you to the card reader.

The cashier giggles, looking between the two of you. She scrunches her nose up with a sweet smile, looks back at you, and says, “You let Daddy pay, sweetie.”

You both react at the same time; Joel coughs as if choking on his own tongue, bringing his forearm up to cover his mouth, and you shake your head with a quick gasp, instantly telling her, “No, no, he’s not my dad, he’s a friend– my dad’s f– he’s my dad’s friend. Not my dadd– not–”

“Oh, I’m sorry!” she giggles again, totally unaware of what she’s done to the pair of you. “My mistake. Here, sir, your receipt.” She hands it to Joel, who thanks her with a strained smile on his lips, hoists the crate under his arm and makes off with the bag.

You wave as you take off in his wake, trying to keep up with his long strides.

“Joel, wait up. What’s the rush, I–”

He throws the beer and bag into the backseat as you climb in the driver’s side, and slams his door closed with a bang.

You watch him for a moment as his head falls back onto the headrest, exhaling slowly.

“Everything al–?”

“Everything’s fine,” he cuts across you sharply, then hears it, and opens his eyes, looking over to you affectionately. “Everything’s fine,” he says again, calmer, quieter. His eyes scan over the sight of you in his shirt.

He shuffles in his seat and your gaze trails down to where he pulls the bottom of his tee over the crotch of his jeans. When he speaks, your eyes snap back up to his face.

“‘Let Daddy pay’? What the hell was that?” he scoffs as casually as he can muster, not noticing you, instead looking out the front window to the parking lot.

You laugh a little, leaning into your seat to look at him softly. “She was just tryna get me some free stuff, I think. She was nice.”

Joel breathes out a laugh. “Here I was thinkin’ you’d paid her to say it.”

“If I wanted to getcha all flustered, I bet I could do it myself. Don’t need nobody to help me.” You give him a toothy grin, and he returns it, placing a hand on your knee and shaking it.

“Let’s go. Your dad will be demented waitin’ on these sponges.”

----------

“Coors?” your dad asks, tilting the case in his hand.

“Sure,” you reply, spirit dying already.

“They run out of Bud?” he screws his face up in confusion.

Your eyes run from his along to Joel’s shoulder, and up to his face, which sits in a look of smug bemusement.

“Hm,” Joel cocks his head, “that’s weird.”

“They were all out,” you mutter tonelessly, turning on your heel back into the kitchen. You grab a cup and fill it with soda.

“Aw, poor baby,” Joel’s voice coos from behind you. You turn to find him leaning against the kitchen island. “Did you get Daddy the wrong beer?”

You place the glass down on the counter with a sharp thump and rub your eyes. What little energy you have left in you, you decide to use it to tease him straight back.

“I dunno. Do you like Coors, Daddy?” you mewl, floating over to him and leaning into his chest.

“Alright, enough,” he grumbles, pushing you off of him with a laugh you’re sure had an echo of nervousness in it. You link your fingers in his hand and he draws you back in to stop you from falling back dramatically.

“I’m fuckin’ exhausted.”

Truth be told, the last thing you want to be doing is hosting a neighborhood cookout. What with the dry heat now that the rain has passed, and the headache brewing behind your eyes, all you want to do is lie down in a quiet, dark room, and doze in and out of sleep.

“Why don’t you go for a lie down before everyone comes over?” Joel pats your head. “Me and your dad can finish up the cars, get the barbecue goin’. I’ll come wake you once the party’s started.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.” You take your soda and make for the stairs, only realizing at the first step that you’re still in Joel’s shirt. “Oh,” you pull it off one shoulder, “here.”

He holds a hand out to reassure you. “Keep it. You suit it.”

Then he pauses. Takes a breath. Turns it over in his head once or twice before he commits to saying it.

“Keep you thinkin’ of me while you sleep, or…whatever you’re headed up there to do, baby.”

He makes for the garage door without another word, without even glancing back to see your speechless expression.

Doesn’t matter. You know he knows the knot he’s just tied in your stomach.

You drag yourself up the stairs to you room, pull the curtains closed and lay back on your bed, kicking your shoes off. You can smell him all over you. You were sleepy, now you’re wide awake. You lie staring at the ceiling for who knows how long; furious, tired, pining.

Through the open window you can hear Joel making casual conversation with your dad as if he hasn’t just turned you the fuck on and left you to deal with it yourself.

You shake your head. You’re mad at him, but when you think it over, the anger turns into pent-up frustration, adding to the pile that’s been slowly growing harder and harder to bear since that night he drove you home.

The way he looked down at you. What was behind his eyes? Dark, brooding. The way he gripped your jaw, forcing you to look up at him.

Your stomach tightens with excitement, eyes fluttering closed to hear his chuckle, his cool voice as he talks about last week’s baseball game. Your legs seem to fall open on their own, your hips lifting as your hand trails down to meet the lace of your underwear.

Then him calling you trouble. Trouble. Knowing exactly what he really meant, and knowing you knew, too.

Your finger hooks around them and pulls back, other hand lifting your dress to expose yourself to the warm breeze passing through your window. You cup yourself, feeling how wet just the thought of him has you.

The way he looked at you earlier as you walked over. Offering to come to the store with you. Good girl. Let Daddy pay. Good girl.

Your fingers toy with your clit, eliciting a quiet moan from the depths of your throat. You push down, around, adding pressure, taking it away again.

Thinkin’ of me while you do it. Good girl. Nothin’ but trouble.

Your free hand pulls the top of your dress down, cupping around your breast. You lick your fingers and roll your already hard nipple between them, picturing Joel’s lips around it, sucking, licking, kissing…

Let Daddy…Good girl.

“Joel…” you whimper, as you insert a finger inside yourself. It’s the release you’ve been after since that first glance, the first comment that set your stomach ablaze.

You picture his hand in place of yours, rocking back and forth, curling just the way you like, big fingers stretching you out and feeling your walls clamp around him.

You’re a whimpering, whining mess. Covered in your own slick, chasing your high, clit rutting against the palm of your hand.

Feeling a need for more pressure, you bring your other hand down and begin mercilessly rubbing at your clit while your hand pumps in and out, in and out.

You’re close. You have to bury your face in the shoulder of his shirt to stop from screaming. It only drives you crazier. The smell of him, the way his name sounds escaping your lips in breathy moans, the thought of his weight on top of yours, making you feel so good, making you cum over and over…

“Feel good?”

Joel’s voice is calm, cool. It’s not at all like he’s just caught you fucking yourself to the thought of him.

Your eyes shoot open and hands scramble to push your dress back down, yanking the bedsheets over yourself. He’s standing against your doorframe with his arms folded.

“Don’t cut it short on my account, baby,” he purrs, stepping inside your room and closing the door gently behind him. “You take all the time you need.”

“Didn’t hear you come in,” you whisper.

He settles back on your dresser, looking over at you with a barely noticeable smirk across his lips.

“Barbecue’s heatin’ up.”

“Thanks for letting me know.” You’re still in a daze, part-embarrassed, part-confused. Joel’s acting so casual that you’re not even entirely sure this is happening right now.

“What were you thinkin’ about?” He cocks his head.

Your eyes screw shut. You swing your legs off the side of your bed and lean forward, your back to him.

“You can tell me if it was me.”

“Wasn’t you, Joel.”

“You know a lot of Joels? You rubbin’ that pretty little pussy to all your other Joel friends?”

Your head finally clears when he starts teasing you. That humming energy picks up again. He’s riling you, maybe not for the same reason as before, but he’s doing it.

You stand from your bed and turn to face him.

“Was thinking…was thinking about being a good girl for you. Letting you put your hands on me.”

You start stepping forward. Your voice drops to a whisper.

“Was thinking about you making me cum while everyone’s here, and we gotta be quiet, and you’re all over me…”

Joel’s eyes darken. He straightens up.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You reach him, and place both hands on his chest. Did you just feel his heart skip beneath his shirt?

Downstairs the doorbell rings, and you both suddenly hear your next-door neighbor’s voice rattle through the house, remarking how nice the kitchen is, and where can she put this salad?

Joel’s head turns ever so slightly to the door, eyes still locked on yours.

“Party’s started,” he murmurs.

You nod slowly. You’re feeling unusually bold – but this fucker just cut in right ahead of your orgasm, and you want him to pay it back.

You tell him in low voice, “Better hurry up.”

He pushes off the dresser, grabbing your shoulders and pushing you backwards. Your eyes never leave his as you stumble across your hardwood floor and the back of your knees hit your bed. Joel pushes you down, shoving your thighs open with one knee, and bends over you.

“This what you want?” he slurs, drunk on the heat radiating off of you and the sight of you in his shirt. “You want your daddy’s best friend all over you?”

“Uhuh,” you moan when he hauls your arms above your head.

Without a word, he hauls your dress up and drags a finger around your underwear, pulling them to the side. You throw your head back, bracing for the moment his hands touch you where you need him most. You could fold right now just at the thought of it.

Joel makes no move for a few seconds, and when you glance back down, he’s hovering, drinking in the sight of you. You smile.

“Aw, baby,” he breathes, noticing you watching him. Then he dips his head and his lips crash against yours roughly, like he might’ve died if he hadn’t kissed you there and then.

Your arms come down and wrap over his shoulders, fingers tangling in his hair. You feel his weight over you as he kisses you deeper, and then starts rubbing your swollen clit. You moan into his mouth, bucking your hips.

Music begins playing from downstairs, your dad obviously having worked out how to use the sound system by himself. Voices from neighbors arriving float in through your open window. Joel tears his shirt off of your shoulders and begins sucking on your neck.

“Joel,” you whimper, “want more.”

He laughs against your skin. “So needy, darlin’.”

His hands pull away from your clit for a few seconds before he inserts a finger, slow, but fucking perfect. Your back arches against him as he pushes in further, going deeper than you ever managed yourself.

“Good?” he’s whispering, and all you can offer as response are your panting breaths.

He pumps slowly a few times, then pulls all the way out and inserts two. Your hands pull his lips against yours again, purely to allow yourself to moan without risk of being heard from the front yard.

Joel’s fingers curl and hit that spot inside you that yours never could. Your mouth agape, you writhe under his touch as his hand fucks you, his palm providing just enough friction on your clit to nudge you closer and closer to your orgasm with each drag of his wrist.

“Fuck, Joel, I’m close,” you whisper.

“Gotta be real quiet, baby, okay? Too many people downstairs.”

Your back arches again as your high approaches.

“Fuck, keep going.”

Joel’s hand pumps in and out of you at a punishing pace, fucking you so hard that his palm comes down on your clit harder and harder with each thrust.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, trying your best to keep the noise down, but his fingers feel so good, the feeling of him overwhelming, so wrong and yet so fucking right.

You’re sure you’re about to cry out, and Joel notices too, because he instantly pushes himself against your body; lips brushing your ear to coax you through your high, shoulder at the perfect position for you to sob into as you cum all over his fingers.

When your orgasm subsides, aftereffects washing over you like waves, you lay with your eyes closed, letting your shaky breath come back to normal. Your body hums with energy, but you’re so spaced out you feel like you can’t move.

Joel lifts his weight off of you, leaning onto one hip to pull your panties back and your skirt over them. You watch him lazily through your eyelashes. He fixes your hair, and runs his cupped hand down your cheek.

It’s soft, unlike the last ten minutes were. He’s being Joel again, the Joel you’re used to. But you kinda want to get to know this new Joel, all the same.

Then he shows you one last glimpse of him.

He lifts his middle finger, buried deep inside you not even a minute ago, and brings it to his lips. Sucks on it, moaning at the taste of you, before letting it go. He holds out the second digit he fucked you with.

You instinctively part your lips and he pushes it in, letting you taste yourself. He’s watching you with cloudy eyes; you’re not sure what he’s thinking as you suckle on his finger, but you know it’s filthy.

He removes it and then uses his thumb to wipe your lips, before getting up and resuming his position, leaned against your dresser.

You understand it as your cue to get up, too.

You stand, adjusting your dress, and stare at him for a moment.

“This…” He gestures between the two of you. “This is…We’re…We don’t…”

He looks up. Your eyes meet, and there’s an unspoken exchange of words. You understand, so does he.

“Nothing happened,” you breathe.

Joel nods, and leaves the room first.

----------

tag list: @yvonneeeee @brittmb115

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

He’s mine || Billy the kid x oc!reader

Summary: Mrs Riley’s affection for Billy does not go unnoticed by you, or anyone for that matter. There was hardly competition because unlike her, you weren’t married and sworn to another man, but Mrs. Riley just needed a little push over the edge and she would be done for. What you didn't expect however, was that you would be there at the scene of her downfall.

Warnings: slightly dark oc! mention of blood, shooting, oc sorta manipulates Billy, possessiveness, guilt trapping, violence, mention of dead body

Wc: 4,712 this is a loooong one, longest one ive ever written lol.

A/n: Sofía does not back down when it comes to getting what she wants is all I gotta say 😃 also it's sorta long because I'm basically retelling some of the scenes from the btk episode but with sofia in it so..

Divider by @pommecita

In Mr. Murphy's sprawling house, the air buzzed with animated conversations, and the linger familiar scent of alcohol and smoke added to the vibrant atmosphere. You and Billy navigated the lively gathering, your hand on Billy's arm.

"There he is," A voice murmurs softy, pulling your attention away from Billy. "Billy! Come here." John Riley, Murphy's right hand man, beckoned him over for a chat. You could sense the hesitation within Billy but Mr. Riley persists. "I would like to introduce you to my wife," He rests his hand on the woman's waist. She looked no more than 3 years older than you, her hair elegantly arranged in a bun as she showcases her pearly white smile.

"Honey, this is the fella I was telling you about, this is Billy the Kid," Because of how tall Billy was compared to majority of the people here, Both Mr. and Mrs. Riley had to gaze up at him. "Billy belongs to The House now. This is Irene," John gestures to his wife.

Watching the entire ordeal by his side, you saw a glint of desire in Irene's eyes. "Howdy," Billy tips his hat nonchalantly, sporting a bored expression as Irene extends her hand out for a shake. Your gaze drifts around the room, noticing eyes already fixed on you as your hands delicately squeeze Billy's arm.

"So, you're a cowboy, are you?" She grins broadly, the smile stretching from ear to ear, her hand lingering on Billy's just a beat longer than deemed necessary for a married woman with high status like her. "Oh, he's an outlaw, baby," Mr. Riley corrects his wife with a sly smile. Leaning in, he murmurs into her ear, "This man's wanted for murder."

Irene subtly inches closer to Billy, her voice gentle and soft, "Well, it sure is nice to meet such a handsome outlaw." Her eyes carefully trace his features as Billy, feeing a tad bit awkward, manages a brief, but tentative smile, then glances towards Mr. Riley. "Billy," He bids him goodbye, tension already simmering, and he draws Irene along with him, her gaze remaining fixed on him.

"I don't like her," You assert boldly as Billy smiles, he loved it when you were up front with him. He turns to face you, his hand gently on your waist while the other finds its place at the base of your neck. "Me neither, sweetheart. She looks like trouble, and I don't want that," He reassures you, affirming his unwavering loyalty.

"Hey Billy," James Dolan interrupts his conversation with Jesse. "Uh, we've, uh, set up a little fun thing for you to do," he says, fixing an intense gaze on Billy. You set your glass down, and Jesse glances at you. "See, everyone here, they want to see what you can do with a gun, hmm?"

At the mere mention of guns, Billy's gaze shifts to the floor, and he leans back on the table behind him. "They've all heard the stories." Jesse uncomfortable shifts as you observe Dolan, "Murphy thinks it would be a great idea for you to give 'em all a little- you know- demonstration." He playfully slaps Billy's chest.

"Yeah? No." Billy says flatly, turning to leave before James firmly grips his arm "Okay, okay, Billy." He shakes head, his hands resting on his hips. You narrow your eyes at him, not liking him already. "I see you don't understand how the wicks. We're paying you a whole lot of money, so if we ask you to do something small for us in return," Billy's head drops, "we expect you to do it."

"Now, come this way," He gestures, anticipating Billy's compliance. Instead, Billy stands his ground, "I don't feel like doing that," You glance between Billy and James who kisses his teeth and beckons for a man named Jimmy.

Jesse turns around to face the table, pouring himself a glass of alcohol before extending the offer to you. A subtle shake of your head declines the offer, but Billy eagerly accepts, tossing his head back with a satisfied expression. James whispers into another man's ear, Jimmy you assume as he then continues to tell Billy how he should do this little, to show everyone how good he was.

"You can do that for us, yes?" Jimmy holds Billy's shoulder, his gaze on the floor once again. "And if you agree there, Billy, we got you a little gift, hmm?" James adds as he opens a wooden box revealing a gleaming double action revolver.

You weren't an expert on firearms but the subtle widening of Jesse's eyes before he averts his gaze signifies the weapon's quality "It's brand new. Very expensive. We think you're gonna like it," Jimmy adds as he and James stare at Billy.

Billy's gaze shifts from the gun to the two men standing before him. A momentary hush envelops the room before his eyes meet yours and Jesse's. A sigh escapes him as he sets his glass down.

Billy picks up the gun, inspecting it, before toying with it, eliciting gasps from those around the room. He then tucks it in his gun belt, pouring himself a reasonable amount of whiskey and downing it in one determined gulp. You approach Billy, placing a reassuring hand on his forearm as he wipes the corner of his lips.

"You sure you wanna do this?" You gently ask him, already knowing his reluctance. "What choice do I have, Sof?" He mutters before he's urged to move on.

"Ladies and gentleman, our friend Billy here's gonna demonstrate his gifts as a gunslinger and the reason why we hired him to protect all of our interest. Yeah?" Major Murphy's voice resonates with authority as Billy loads the gun barrel.

You stand alongside Jesse, a tantalizing sip of alcohol hovering at the edge of your lips as you observe the unfolding spectacle. Just a few feet away, Irene grips her satchel, her eyes wide with anticipation. "Come on, Billy!" Murphy exclaims, his applause echoed by the enthusiastic claps of those surrounding you.

Billy wipes his mouth, clearing his throat before fixing his gaze on the targets ahead. The initial shots are a breeze, a mere warm-up for someone of Billy's caliber. In a lightning-fast span of three seconds, all five glass bottles shatter, eliciting an eruption of applause from the captivated crowd.

You smile to yourself, you knew Billy was very skilled, this ordeal demonstrating it even further. He returns to the table where a range of guns were displayed. There's a palpable tension—anger, annoyance, perhaps both—etched across his features.

The stress of the last couple of days working for Murphy, threatening people out of their own homes, has left its mark on him. Night after night, Billy sought solace in you, pouring out his emotions as you offered him nothing but a listening ear and a comforting embrace.

In a swift motion, he removes his tie, choosing another revolver with a sense of purpose. The murmuring crowd hushes as Billy cocks the firearm, once again targeting cans on the ground—now more challenging to spot and precisely aim at, but not for Billy.

With each bullet making contact with the tin, a collective flinch ripples through the crowd, including Mrs. Riley. Unfazed, Billy seamlessly transitions to a rifle. He fires a few shots at a measured pace before seamlessly shifting into a rapid sequence of shooting, cocking, and repeating.

The tension in the crowd palpably escalated as Billy's anger became increasingly evident. The wooden backdrop itself caught fire amid his repeated shots, casting a fearful hush over the onlookers, the only audible sound being the ominous crackling of the flames.

You maintained a composed stance, your gaze unwaveringly fixed on Billy. He, too, remained motionless, likely processing the chaotic scene unfolding. A swift glance at Mrs. Riley revealed her frightened demeanor. Billy wiped his mouth, setting the rifle down, and approached you. Without a word, he took your hand, pulling you along as your eyes briefly connected with Irene, navigating through the subdued crowd.

"You okay, Billy?" You gently ask him knowing he was still fired up from before. He was sat on the bed, arms resting on his thighs with his legs open. You slot yourself in between them as your hands run through his hair, a tender attempt to soothe him.

He tilts his head back, his hands roaming around your back and down your . "You still seem stressed," You frown as he stares at you quietly, though the glint of mischief was still evident in his eyes. "I can fix that," You whisper against his lips before he kisses you aggressively, hungry, starving for more.

~

The saloon buzzed with the clinking of glasses and the shuffling of cards as Mrs. Riley sauntered in. Her eyes, keen with mischief, spotted Billy at the table, surrounded by others as he was deeply engrossed in the poker game, his attention fixed on the cards in his hands.

"Hey there Irene. Come to join in?" Sam says as Mrs. Riley smiles, "If you'll have me, Sam," As she approached, she ignored the way your hand rested on Billy's thigh as your eyes stay focused on the cards in his hands. Mrs. Riley couldn't help but cast a flirtatious glance his way, something that Billy doesn't catch on, but you do, and Charlie, who was seated on your other side.

"Good evening, gentleman," Her high pitched voice greets as you supress a subtle eye roll. True to their gentlemanly nature, they all reciprocated with polite greetings, Billy even taking his hat off as you remained silent. You silently threw daggers her way.

Your dislike towards the woman started from the second you caught her eyeing Billy when she sat beside her husband in the carriage. Even with Billy’s hands on your waist and the close proximity between the two of you that was more than platonic, it didn't seem to deter her away—drew her more in perhaps.

Undeterred, Mrs. Riley leaned in closer to Billy, her words tinged with flirtation. "My! It's Billy the Kid, isn't it?" She purred, a blatant expression of infatuation adorning her face, her smile captivating display aimed directly at him.

Billy's gaze finally shifts toward her for the first time since she stepped into the saloon. "Yes, ma'am," he responds politely, offering no more than a slight smile before his attention returns to the worn wooden table before him. You gently squeeze his thigh, and as his eyes meet yours, a silent understanding passes between you.

"Do not call me that," Irene interjects abruptbly. "It makes me feel old, and I am not old." She states, exhaling through her nose."I didn't mean to suggest you were," Billy quickly backs himself up.

Your gaze shifts to Charlie, and a subtle exchange of glances circulates the table. "I'm really so happy to see you, Billy," she utters, a faint smile playing on her lips, her voice lowering ever so slightly. The weight of her words hangs in the air, and Billy, in response, squirms uncomfortably in his seat.

You extend your hand gracefully above the space between you and Billy, a subtle bridge in the air. "Sofía Del Tobosco," you introduce yourself, your voice carrying the weight of confidence. Yet, she meets your greeting with a blank, unwavering stare, leaving the air between you tinged with an intriguing tension as the others on the table watch on.

"We haven't properly met, I'm Billy's-" "Aren't you Dulcinea's little sister?" With narrowed eyes, you retract your hand, an awkward silence settling over the table, "I'm good friends with her ya know," Mrs. Riley giggles, leaving you to decipher her intentions at the mention of your sister. A simple hum escapes your lips as you inhale sharply, shooting an annoyed look to Charlie, who quietly chuckles.

"Wanna start a new game?" Sam cuts through the silence. Irene gracefully declines the offer, "Oh, no. You go on. I'll watch," she smiles. "Good," you mutter under your breath, a quiet comment that only Billy and Charlie seem to catch.

Mrs. Riley gracefully raises a wine glass, "Here's to you, Billy," she toasts, her gaze unwavering as she lifts it to her lips. Billy's expression remains inscrutable as he watches. The corners of his lips hint at a subtle upward twitch before he speaks, "Well, we should get going."

You gladly agree with Billy as you get ready to leave, "Gentleman-" "Oh, no. Don't go," Irene cuts him off as Billy freezes, "Stay." Despite being on your feet, you cross your arms, fixing her with an irked expression. "Walk me home later?" She nervously proposes, her hands fidgeting in her lap.

Your lips part in astonishment at her words. There was no way she asking that from Billy when clearly, he has a girl by his side. Billy's eyes flicker towards you, a subtly nod indicating his loyalty. Mrs. Riley persisted, "Please, Billy?" Just as you open your mouth to respond, Sam beats you to it.

"I'll walk you home, Irene," Sam says, diffusing the tension in the air. The relief on Billy's face is palpable as you gently touch his bicep and he glances at you. He bids farewell to the table, and you follow suit, exiting the saloon with Billy. His hand extends behind him, finding yours as he pulls you along with a certain urgency, knowing what the rest of the night would entail.

~

Amidst the haze of smoke and the lingering scent of alcohol, Jesse and his gang sprawled across the room, resting a chaotic atmosphere. You were making small talk with the people around like the mannered young woman you were.

Your keen eyes wandered around the room before landing on Mrs. Riley, who was making her way to Billy. You narrow your eyes, “Has she learnt absolutely nothing?” Your words spat out with an unmistakable tone of annoyance. Charlie lets out a subdued chuckle, shaking his head as he swirled the glass of alcohol in his hand, a wry smile playing on his lips as he watches Billy and Irene.

"Hello there, Billy," Irene came up behind him, a huge grin plastered on her face. "Mrs. Riley," he politely greeted her, a trace of urgency in his tone, "I wanted to see you. I really—I want to talk to you. I need to." Her words were slurred. Sensing trouble, Billy discreetly scanned the surroundings, his eyes discreetly seeking you.

"Uh- maybe now is not a good time," He made a move once his gaze fixated on your silhouette. "Oh no, definitely now. I have something to say," Irene interjected, pulling Billy back with a subtle sigh escaping him. "Get me another drink, will ya?" Her request carried an undertone of desperation, a silent plea to retain his focus.

Billy surveyed her, noticing the telltale signs that she had indulged in one too many drinks. "Sure," he bobbed his head before moving to find a servant holding glasses full of alcohol. "Gracias,' Billy thanked the woman with a smile before he redirecting his attention back to Mrs. Riley.

She gracefully retrieved the glass from his hand, her fingers delicately lingering on his before she flashed a captivating grin, taking a sip. "What did you want to say?" Billy, with a subtle furrow of his eyebrows, gently steered her back to the purpose of their conversation.

Mrs. Riley gulped. "I want to tell you about my husband," she began, and Billy couldn't help but notice a subtle shimmer in her eyes, dulled by the influence of whiskey. "What about your husband?" Billy questioned, a hint of confusion coloring his expression, uncertain where the conversation was headed.

"I- I hate him," she confessed, punctuating her words with another gulp of whiskey. At the abrupt confession, Billy's gaze eagerly sought yours once again. "You can't even imagine," She shook her head, her voice trembling. "Maybe this isn't the place to talk about this," Billy pointed out as he nervously looked at the people around who could possibly be listening.

There was silence in the air as Billy's words manage to sink into Irene's head. "No," she utters softly, delicately placing her glass on a nearby table. "Light my cigarette, will ya?" She gazed up at Billy, who sighed but complies, retrieving a packet of matchsticks from his pocket and igniting the end of her cigarette.

From afar, you were silently raging inside as you watch the two interact. You knew Mrs. Riley's affection was more than friendly, oh it was more than that. "I feel like I'm going to be sick," You mutter with an eye roll, fishing out a cigarette from your purse.

You move the end of the joint to a nearby candle letting it ignite as you take a few deep drags, eyes glued on Billy and Irene. "Thank you," Irene said lowly, her eyes looking off to the side before she directs her gaze back at Billy. "You know, you're very good-looking, Billy,"

Billy wets his lips, casting his gaze downward, an air of discomfort lingering in the unusual tension between them. "Can we go somewhere? I like you," she murmured, drawing nearer with a drop in her voice.

Billy knew what she was trying to do and he wanted nothing of it. He locks eyes with you for a fleeting moment, your silhouette veiled in smoke, a clear sign of your annoyance. "I don't think that's a good idea," He firmly says as Irene's hopeful expression drops. "Please. Please, Billy," She pleaded. There was something uneasy about how she was begging him.

"I told you I hate him. I have to get away." Mrs. Riley persisted as Billy's eyes search hers. He ignored the unsettling feeling in his stomach, "No. I'm sorry, Mrs. Riley." She pursed her lips before she lightly shook her head, her eyes closing for a brief moment, an acknowledgement of his rejection.

"Never mind," She giggled softly to herself, "It's not your fault," Irene gave Billy a smile before it drops slowly as if something inside of her was sinking. The two of them stood there for a couple of seconds before Billy felt her lips on his.

"What is she doing-" You stub your cigarette on the table, ready to storm off in Billy and Irene's direction before Charlie subtly interjects, his arm forming a barrier in front of you. Your eyes were wide in shock after witnessing the unexpected kiss. "Did you see that? Tell me you saw that, Charlie," you exclaimed, shooting him a pleading look.

"Yes, yes I did. But causing a scene won't help, besides, I think someone else could do that," Charlie whispered in your ear, prompting you to give him a puzzled look as your nails dig into his arm.

Charlie cocks his head to where Mr. Riley was, a few feet away from the two, standing with a few other men. You smirk to yourself, imagining the havoc you would create when you redirect Mr. Riley's eyes to Billy and Irene kissing. Charlie removes his arm from in front of you as you straighten up.

Seizing the moment, you deliberately raised your voice, "Is that Mrs. Riley with Billy?" The words echoed through the room, catching the attention of those nearby.

Mrs. Riley's husband, mere feet away, overheard the commotion. Anger flashed in his eyes as he turned to witness the scene, realizing his wife's inappropriate proximity to Billy. Without a word, he stormed out, following Mrs. Riley into the night.

You push your purse into Charlie's chest, "Watch this for me, will ya?" You gave him no time to answer before you were already moving away from him. You made purposeful strides to follow Mr. and Mrs. Riley, leading you outside.

"Hey!" You hear John's voice yell loudly as you hastily conceal yourself around the corner. You peeped from the corner as your eyes widen; John had a firm grip on Irene who was whimpering. "You fucking, lousy fucking bitch." He seethed, his hold on his wife unwavering.

"What do you mean?" Irene fired back, "I saw you in there, with Billy," John lowered his head as Irene shut her eyes. "I know what you were doing, You was trying to get him to fuck you, because you're a little fucking whore!" He taunted her, violently shaking her slender frame.

Both Mr. and Mrs. Riley seemed the slightest bit drunk. Sensing the intensity, you quietly moved to another spot to hear them better, "I'm tired. I want to sleep," Irene pleaded helplessly, pulling away. Her once-neat bun now betrayed signs of disarray.

"I've had enough of you. Do you understand?" John forcefully pulled her back towards him, and Irene released a pained groan. "You're a fucking embarrassment. You're always out there in heat. It's fucking disgusting and I've had e-fucking-nough!" He yelled in her face.

Part of you wanted to go out there and confront him, but what would that do? Your gaze involuntarily fell on the revolver snug in his gun belt—John Riley, a man not hesitant to use it, especially if he discovered you eavesdropping on their private dispute.

"So have I!" Mrs. Riley yelled back, making you slightly jump at the suddenness of it. "I've had enough of you; I hate you!" She roughly shoved him off of her, stumbling as she walked away.

From where you were hiding, you could see what she was doing. What she was reaching for in her garter. A revolver. Swiftly turning, she cocked it and fired, the shot lacking precision. Her lack of aim resulted in wounding John's upper right arm, and you instinctively covered your mouth to stifle a gasp, your eyes widening in shock.

Meanwhile, Billy had been searching everywhere for you. His search for you led him out front of the house where the unmistakable sound of a gunshot pierced the air, prompting his head to whip in the direction of the noise.

Against the wall, you pressed yourself further, a silent witness to the unfolding chaos. In a single, fluid motion, Mr. Riley drew his gun, the metallic click resonating in the tense atmosphere before a decisive shot rang out. Her body dropped to the floor where you saw a clear view of the blood pooling around her body.

Your hands covered your mouth in both shock and horror. Trembling with fear, you couldn't tear your eyes away. At the echo of a second gunshot, Billy sprinted to the side of the house. The urgency became palpable – you needed to leave, immediately. Peeking cautiously around the corner, you saw John's back, hunched and vulnerable, as he clutched his wound.

You quickly slip out before you bump into a hard surface. Your eyes widen in shock as Billy stares down at you, his eyebrows knit in confusion yet his gaze reflecting genuine concern. Before he can question about your unexpected presence, his attention shifts behind you to where Irene's lifeless form lies sprawled on the ground.

His gaze then locks onto John, who winces in pain. "She's dead!" Billy instinctively pushes you to safety behind him; your breathing is quick and shallow, your chest heaving with rapid breaths. Billy's gaze remains fixed on Mrs. Riley.

"What did you do?" His voice turns cold, and the unmistakable sound of him cocking his gun follows. "Billy!" you whisper-yell, hand urgently tugging on his shirt. "She shot me! She tried to kill me!" John points to his bleeding wound, your fear lingering despite Billy's protective stance. "Now, get me some fucking help!"

"Hey, hey, hey, hey!" James Dolan rushes in between the two, "what the hell is happening?" Billy's aim at John doesn't falter. "You're friend killed his wife." You flinch when John's yell rang through your ears, "She shot me! Look at me!"

"Okay, okay, just.... Billy," Dolan puts his hand on Billy's arm, lowering the gun, "Billy, put it down, all right?" Billy complies but hesitates when he puts his gun back in the safety of his belt. You clutch onto Billy's arm as pulls you into his chest, relief flooding through you as he holds you tightly.

"Hey, go fetch the doctor, huh?" You hear James yell. Unbeknownst to you, Billy's eyes stayed glued on Irene. His lip quivering slightly. There had been so much life in her just a couple minutes before, and now, he stared at her lifeless body, blood soaking into her dress.

As his hand moved to caress your hair, his eyes snap to James and John. James was ushering John to go back inside so that he could help him until Billy interjects. "We need a fucking sheriff!" He yelled, as you felt the vibration of his chest in your entire body as you clung to him even more.

"Billy, Billy please, take me out of here," You pull his face down in between your hands as he gazes at your desperate eyes. "Just, just get out of here!" James instructs the onlookers. Billy brushes the sweaty strands that framed your face back. "Sh, it's okay, 'm right here, sweetheart," He pulls you back into the warmth of his chest as you let out a choked sob.

~

“What were you doin' there?” The question, anticipated and inevitable, lingered in the air. Placing your cup on the kitchen counter, you turned to face Billy, his eyes fixed on you, awaiting your response. His expression, an enigma.

Exhaling through your nose, you crossed your arms, eyes drifting to the plant in the corner of the room. "I just wanted to check if she was okay, stumbling around the house drunk, Billy," you lied, leaving the part out where you saw them kissing and discreetly letting Mr. Riley know of the inappropriate behaviour his wife was partaking in.

Pushing off the counter, you approached Billy, your feet closing the distance. His legs, too long for the table, faced you, stretching out.

"Then Mr. Riley came, so I hid... And then it happened," you explained, shrugging. A sigh escaped your lips as you settled beside him, your hand offering a comforting squeeze to his thigh.

Billy scrutinized your features, finding sincerity in your eyes, yet sensing an underlying truth—you didn't truly care about Mrs. Riley's death. Your behaviour around her proved it.

"I just can’t stop thinking ‘bout it," Billy admitted, fingers toying with the mug handle before him. "Of course you can't, Billy-" You were cut off as Billy spoke, "She was even begging me! Fucking begged me to take her somewhere, away from him."

You bit your lip, containing your reaction to this new revelation. Irene begging him to take her away? Mr. Riley's accusatory words echoed in your mind, You were trying to get him to fuck you

"I-I should’ve done something. If I had taken her somewhere, she'd probably be alive right now," Billy stammered, and you moved to cradle his head, ushering him to stop. "Billy. Billy, stop." You spoke calmly, though turmoil brewed within.

He blamed himself for Irene's death, carrying the weight of responsibility for her demise, a fate she brought upon herself by flaunting more than friendliness—brazenly, in front of her husband.

"It is not your fault that Irene was murdered, okay?" you reassured him as he fell into silence. "Still, takin’ her somewhere could’ve helped-" "Stop!" You abruptly shouted, making Billy flinch in your grasp.

Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath before releasing your hold on him, and Billy stared at you in shock. "I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled. I just-" You halted, inhaling again to gain your composure.

“Do you really think nothing bad would’ve happened to either you or Irene if you did take her somewhere? Billy, Mr. Riley would not have taken it lightly if he found out you did take his wife somewhere,” you reason with him.

Billy nodded slowly. "Yeah, you’re right." You gave him a tight smile, patting his thigh. "I should probably get going, Jesse wants to meet up with me." Billy stood, adjusting his hat, and you rose from the seat.

"Okay, be safe." Approaching him, you smiled up, and he slipped his arm around your waist. "I love you." Leaning in, you replied, "I love you too," your lips meeting in a tender connection.

[luvhughes43]

I BEG! BEG FOR SOME hughes!sister x Nico Au

Where Jack find out about them by accident, and Jacks like “You’re my sister, and THIS is what you do to me?”

PLEASE ITS A NEED

i’m so happy that u like the au!!🫶

-

Dawsons the one to break the news to Jack. they’re sitting on his coach, both scrolling on their phones and gossiping with each other.

“crazy how Blake and Nico are dating eh?” Dawson says, his newfie accent thick as he pauses on the newest photo on his instagram feed.

Jack chuckles, “man what are you talking about”. he tosses his phone beside him on the couch and leans back, not believing for a second that his twin would be dating his captain.

“Nico and Blake?” Dawson continues cluelessly. he scrolls through Blake's photos, stopping at a very obvious pic of her and Nico with his silhouette cropped out. Dawson tilts his phone towards Jack.

“you’re fucking lying,” Jack gasps, sitting up from his position and taking hold of Dawsons phone.

“you didn’t know..?” Dawson’s so confused… the relationship between their captain and the Hughes sister was very obvious to everyone near the couple.

Jack shoots up out of his seat and quickly pockets his phone as he rushes out his goodbyes to Dawson.

“you’re my sister and THIS is what you do to me?” Jack shouts, storming into Blake's quiet apartment. she looks up from her book to see a fuming Jack in her entrance way.

“what…. did i do?”

“my captain?? you’re screwing my captain!” he shouts again, tugging on his hair as he walks through her apartment.

when he starts pacing, Blake's anxiety grows.

“i didn’t… i’m not-“

“don’t lie to me,” Jack bites, whipping around to face a shell shocked Blake.

Blake stares at her twin, anxious tears threatening her eyesight as she rushes out an apology. “i’m so sorry Jack. I know it’s wrong but we’re adults and he’s so-“ she gasps, “he’s so sweet and-“ she gasps again, tears winning their battle and steaming down her face.

“don’t cry about it” Jack scuffs, and as much as he doesn’t want to admit it in this moment Blake being upset always made him upset. he walks over to his sister, sitting quietly on the floor in front of her spot on the couch. he stares straight ahead, stewing in his own upset while also letting Blake know that they’re going to work it out.

truly though, this was so damn annoying for Jack. out of everyone, her sister would choose his captain? he sighed.

“i’m sorry” Blake whispers again, nudging Jack's shoulder with her fist.

“it’s whatever” Jack sighs, all of his energy being drained from his earlier outburst.

the twins sit in silence for a while, before Jack starts up again.

“oh my god is that why you have his jersey sitting in your closet?” he gasps, turning to face his sister.

“how do you know about that!”

Jack blinks at her, “you force me to bring you sweaters when you’re cold, what are you talking about?”

“okay well-“

“oh my god!” he continues. “that’s why you were fuming that night of the wag party… you were jealous that he was talking to somebody else!”

“okay i’m happy that you kind of moved on from your anger but we really don’t have to go through all-“

“BROO!!! that’s why Nico was asking me about your favourite things??? he said he just wanted to know your coffee order to make you feel better but he liked you!” Jack gasps, shifting himself so that he was laying on the floor and staring up at the ceiling.

Blake blushes at Jacks retelling. “Nicos so sweet,”

“ugh,” Jack groans loudly and dramatically. he thrashes around on the ground, before settling and staring up at his sister. “don’t say any of that shit to me,”

“I thought you were cool with us now!” Blake protests.

“no,” Jack states. “after that comment i take it all back”

“that was innocent though?” Blake laughs at Jack's struggle. he looked like he was in pain.

before Jack has the chance to say anything, Blake’s phone rings and she happily answers. she puts it on speaker and Nicos voice blares through the phone loud and clear. “hey babe!”

“UGH,” Jack groans.

“Jack?” Nico is immediately panicking thinking that he’d just blown their cover.

“he knows,” Blake responds for Jack, who hides his face in his hands.

“this is disgusting” Jack mutters.

“you told him?” Nico asks, completely bypassing Jack's comment.

“no,” Blake responds before turning to Jack. “wait… how did you find out?”

“Dawson,” Jacks voice is muffled behind his hands.

“Dawson knows?” Nico questions in disbelief.

“I guess we’re not too discreet,” Blake chuckles, causing another loud groan to rip through Jack.

[ascesabo]

sometimes i want to reach through the screen and shake sabo by the shoulders because. god. there's just so much going on with him.

he's first introduced through the veil of luffy's memories- here he's just another feral jungle kid, sticking it out with ace and luffy, the 'nicer' brother in young luffy's eyes. and then boom. you find out he's a runaway noble trying to escape his abusive, neglectful family- and this changes nothing, they still get to become sworn brothers, but just as quickly as this is resolved, his asshole of a dad takes the three of them hostage. and what does sabo do? he gives up the little sliver of freedom he'd fought for, is willing to become miserable and lonely again if it means ace and luffy are spared. and then he comes home to find that in his absence, his parents have already found a replacement! great!

and he doesn't even get to address how fucked up that is, because stelly runs his mouth and now sabo's too busy trying to figure out how to stop his brothers and their home from getting burnt to the ground. he never gets to give them a proper goodbye- he exhausts himself trying to reach them, but he can't because. you know. he's ten. so where does this leave sabo? ten years old, with nowhere to go- he sets out to sea to try and start over, and for the crime of wanting to escape a terrible life, he's punished with an explosion to the face. he loses his memories, his brothers lose him- and so the cycle continues.

then the army saves him, takes him in; he's essentially a child soldier, with how prodigious of a fighter he is from the get-go. but hey, he thinks he's finally found his footing, even if his past's a blur to him- then it all comes flooding back. in the worst way possible. he sees his brother's corpse and he remembers, but it doesn't matter, does it? he's too late, ace is gone, and sabo's lost ten years of a life he could have shared with his brothers. we don't even know how (if, even) he recovers from this- except for a single passing statement from koala, asking him if he's 'had that dream again' because he'd been crying in his sleep. this is never brought up or addressed again. great!plus, we never do find out if getting blown up at the ripe old age of ten could have left any lasting fire-related trauma; and if it does, what does that mean for sabo, who's pretty much made of it, now?

both of these questions are answered at once- sabo treats the fire as if it's ace. it's ace's legacy he's carrying on, and it's ace he seeks freedom for. he copes by making sure ace lives on in his flames, and how can he ever hate the fire living in him if that fire is all he has left of the brother he never got to see again?

i just have to wonder about him, because he's got so many Issues that just. don't ever get addressed? every time we see him deal with his grief (episode of sabo, his own retelling of events in dressrosa) we never really discover anything about him. i wonder how it felt to finally remember the childhood that eluded him, just to find out he was an unwanted, replacable child. how he feels, living with the knowledge that he could have done something to save ace, that he'd failed to remember the two people he loved the most? i wonder just how terribly that guilt must weigh down on him- because where luffy's already begun to heal, sabo still sees ace in everything he does. his title of flame emperor is a direct callback to ace's final attack in his fight against blackbeard. he talks to his goddamn fire like his brother is still in front of him, which is sweet and heartbreaking and, considering his backlog of unaddressed trauma... incredibly unhealthy. i know these will probably be left unresolved for the sake of moving the story forward- but god, sabo, are you okay?

[engstlersslut]

Baby Fever│ E. Engstler

pairing: emily engstler x reader genre: fluff warnings: none word count: 737 summary: seeing you with a baby gets Emily thinking

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"Babe!" Emily calls out from the front door as she enters the apartment.

"Just a minute!" You shout back, voice coming from the direction of the master bedroom. Moments later, the sound of your footsteps, accompanied by soft baby giggles, alerts her of your approaching presence, drawing a look of confusion.

"Whose baby?" Em asks as you come into view, a small toddler propped on your right hip.

"My coworkers. She and her husband are celebrating their fifth anniversary tonight, so I agreed to help them out after their babysitter canceled last minute." you explain, making your way over to your girlfriend and placing a sweet kiss on her lips.

"She's cute." Em smiles as the baby babbles.

"Isn't she!" You exclaim, nodding in agreement. "Her name is Lila. She's about 14 months but she's so tiny." You gush over the little girl in your arms as Emily nods and smiles adoringly.

"Imma go take a quick shower and then I will meet you in the living room." Emily states, placing a gentle kiss on the top of your head before making her way to the bedroom.

After showering and getting dressed into some comfy clothes, Emily made her way into the main part of the apartment where she found you in the living room, lying on the floor and playing with Lila. The sight of you tickling the baby, a bright smile on your face, sent a warm, fuzzy feeling spreading throughout her chest. Sure, she's had brief thoughts before of what it would be like for the two of you to have kids of your own one day, but seeing you like this really cemented the idea.

"How was your day?" You ask her as she walks over a plops down onto the couch behind you.

"It was good." She nods, "Just practice and some meetings. How about yours?"

Emily attempts to listen as you dive into a detailed retelling of the day's events, but her mind is focused on how easily you manage to tend to the curious and playful toddler while simultaneously carrying on conversation with her. She can't help but think about what an amazing mother you would be someday.

The evening goes by smoothly. After ordering takeout and eating, the three of you settled onto the living room couch where you and Emily took turns holding and playing with Lila while a Disney movie played in the background. Around 9:30, not long after the baby finally fell asleep, your coworker and her husband showed up to take her home.

Once the two of you settled into bed after cleaning up and shutting down the apartment for the night, Emily couldn't hold in the thoughts that had been racing through her mind all evening.

"Hey babe?" She speaks quietly to gain your attention.

"What's up?" You respond, lifting your head off of her chest so you can see her face.

"One day, in the future, do you want kids?" She asks, a nervous look on her face.

"Eventually, yes." You nod. "Why?"

"I don't know." Em shrugs. "Seeing you with Lila today really just made me feel...things." She chuckles at her own vague explanation.

"Like what?" You prod.

"Excitement. Admiration." She names a couple. "It made me think of what an amazing mother you would if we had a child of our own."

"Oh." was all you managed to get out, a blush warming your cheeks at her admission.

"There were a few moments tonight where I wished that it was our baby that you were holding and playing with. I've thought about this in passing, but tonight really had me thinking about it. About how I want days like today to be a part of our future, you know?" She explains, a hand moving to absentmindedly play with your hair.

"I do, too." You nod with a soft smile resting on your lips, leaning up to place a loving kiss on hers. "I don't think we are quite ready for that type of commitment right now, but I want that, too. With you."

All Emily can do is nod and smile, a content sigh passing through her lips. She leans down to kiss you one last time before you place your head back down on her chest, cuddling into her as close as you can get.

"I love you." She whispers softly into you hair.

"I love you more, Em."

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a/n: here's a short one. got this idea while babysitting my nieces and nephews a few days ago.